#think of it as a terse movie scene. Opening shot

[aeolianblues]

*shot glass slams down* chai

[sideprince]

for the snape asks: 1, 12 and 14 please :)

Your favorite thing about Snape?

He gives no fucks and yet also cares so SO deeply.

He doesn't care what people think of him. He has a wonderful tenacity that comes from standing up for himself and not being intimidated by how others perceive him. We see it on the Hogwarts Express when he meets James and Sirius, we see it in the way he fights back again and again when they bully him, and we see it in him as a teacher. He doesn't care if people don't like him, because he's certain in his perceptions and perspectives. He doesn't care what the students think of him, or what Fudge thinks of him as he shows him his Dark Mark, or even what someone like Umbridge thinks. He can't help but be snarky because however full of self-loathing he might be, he also knows that he's the smartest person in the room and ran out of patience for everyone else's bullshit a long time ago.

At the same time, he is so deeply invested in serving Lily's memory and protecting her son, and as he grows as a person he comes to care so much for saving any lives he can, that his dedication ultimately costs him his life. As he works towards that moment, knowing it's on the horizon, his lack of needing to be liked by anyone serves him every step of the way. Chef's kiss.

12. While on the topic of Movie Snape, what’s your favorite Snape-shot from the films?

Brilliant. Best moment in the entire film series, without a doubt. Not one word of dialogue, yet it says so much. This is why Rickman was right for the role, in my opinion. He was incredible with physical work, and Snape, being a terse, serious, closed off character needed to be portrayed by an actor who knew how to speak through their eyes and movements.

The way he lowers his wand to signal he means no harm to Harry and isn't threatening him. The way his eyes convey a trust in Harry while also asking him to trust him in kind. The certainty in his hand as he puts his finger to his lips to convey that he knows something Harry doesn't. The look on his whole face, that says, we're not teacher and student right now, we're both here to serve the same greater purpose and we both know what's at stake. It starts with these these two characters who have a history of not trusting or respecting each other raising their wands to each other, and ends with him having Harry's trust and being in control, all in the span of three seconds. It shifts the dynamic between these two characters entirely. It’s the most connected and intimate these two are in the entire film series.

Snape's motivation is that he knows the moment he's dreaded has come, that he has to kill Dumbledore now, and he also knows that he needs to keep Harry quiet and below the action of the scene to protect him. Even though seconds later he will kill Dumbledore, in this moment Rickman is able sell the audience on the idea that this character has Harry's trust, serving both the goal of the moment between these two characters, and of the story itself because having that trust gives him something to subvert and raise the stakes in the drama of the moment that follows immediately after. There's an incredible amount of storytelling packed into three seconds here, and it's all character work. It's not the dialogue, and it's not the direction, it's pure physicality and decades of acting training and movement work culminating in a moment that looks deceptively simple and is beautifully, profoundly effective.

14. Favorite Snape line/moment? (books or movies!)

I love the moments where he lets the control over his facade slip for a moment and gives away who he really is, like when he's in the middle of an Occlumency lesson with Harry and hears a scream upstairs and immediately runs off without locking his office or telling Harry to get out. Or like when he runs upstairs from the dungeons in his night shirt in the middle of the night because he hears the opened TriWizard egg screeching and doesn't know what it is, just that it sounds like wailing. He forgets his own vulnerability, running out in a nightshirt that would, no doubt, make him look silly in front of colleagues or rogue students, and definitely doesn't help when he's confronted with Moody who already has him on the back foot Not to mention that the castle is described as cold and the man doesn't even think to throw on a dressing gown, he's just off like a bullet because someone might be in danger. I love seeing this character who's controlled, meticulous, who thinks first and then speaks, who observes more than he reveals, who's set up as a foil and is villainized by the protagonist of the narrative, drop everything because he thinks someone is threatened. Love a good chink in the armor.

I also love his first scene in the PS film. Dramatic. Ruthless. Establishes exactly who this guy is and his zero tolerance policy on bullshit. Irrevocably changes the vibe in the room when he walks in. Threateningly charismatic. Love to see it.

[adultswim2021]

Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job #44: “Choices” | March 22, 2010 - 12:30AM | S05E04

Choices is another fairly mediocre episode of the show, but there are a few good moments in the weaker sketches, and there’s a couple of sketches I think are solid. Hey, let’s get into them now! Okay?

SKETCH #1 (COLD OPEN): Brules Rules. Steve Brule simply delivers some bad news that his aunt Joanne just died. It’s brief, and I like it.  

SKETCH #2: All Dolled Up. Barry Stem and Frank Slaten sit at a couple of makeup tables while being “dolled up” in ridiculous, nonsensical make-up. They have a straight-faced conversation about their pedigrees in show business, bragging about working on this show or that, lightly challenging each other’s legitimacy. They come off as insufferable blowhards, and at times they speak directly over one another to filibuster about their time on Manimal or whatever shows they said they worked on. This one’s slightly mean-spirited, but it’s very funny. 

I recall Tim showing this on Howie Mandell’s video podcast and saying that he vetted the footage with the guys involved, and that they had a good sense of humor about it. He revealed what I’ve always assumed; these were unguarded moments during the lead-up to a supposed scripted sketch, but was just a set-up to capture their dick-measuring contest on video.

To come lightly to their defense; the footage IS manipulated. If you look at the mirror you can see the one guy sitting quietly while the other guy talks, while his non-mirrored counterpart is flapping his gums, which means they combined different moments into one shot like George Lucas in the Star Wars prequels. 

SKETCH #3: DLH sings a song about being in love with an insect woman. This is more typical DLH stuff. I didn’t think this one was the worst, but DLH has probably worn out his welcome with most viewers at this point. Still, I liked when he answers his puppet’s question about his love life by tersely stating “I met a nice lady and it’s taken care of”. This one’s just okay, but it ain't no Salome.

SKETCH #4: Next up is H’amb, which starts out as a psycho-drama involving a man nearly driven to suicide after losing all of his money, which he learns on his handsome leather-bound landline telephone. His woes are owed entirely to him refusing to get a job (I can relate!). His family is waiting for him at dinner, and he angrily brandishes a gun when he thinks his wife has indecently purchased lamb for the family, despite their money woes. Turns out it’s Cinco H’amb, and this is just a tacky ad for the economical ham-based imitation lamb-loaf. This one features an elderly Karen Black, who has very irresponsibly mothered two young children at her advanced age. This one joins Dolled up as one of the solid bits on the episode. 

The wraparound is a mixed bag that I’d also describe as “mostly listless”. The plot is that Tim has written an incendiary tell-all about Eric that is completely fabricated. Eric is reasonably furious with Tim and makes a scene at his congratulatory party. Tim, realizing the follies of his ways, chases after Eric and, as a gesture of friendship, rips each page out of his own book to demonstrate that he’d rather keep his valuable friendship with Eric. 

I’d describe these scenes as the worst kind of wraparound: Tim & Eric are on autopilot and falling back on their usual bag of tricks. Random, unfocused silliness. One gets the feeling that they just did this in one or two takes and moved on, cynically writing off their audience of stoners as easily impressed simpletons. You ever make a movie with a camcorder (or a more modern device), and you cast your friend whose really funny, but he has no idea how to act so he just does funny business to crack up the people in the room and doesn't give a shit about how it's gonna look on video? It kinda feels like that, except our class clowns are running the show.

Not that I’m too upset about this; occasionally they happen to fall into a bit of business that makes me smile, and while their lack of care is a little insulting, I don’t tend to take it too personally. Tim’s line read of “I gotta put in some kinda trash” to Eric gets me. I guess I can’t stay too mad at these guys.

This one ends with Eric dramatically slicing and dicing Tim. He stabs him in the gut and creepily whispers to him: “I don’t forgive you!”. I do like this bit, but I couldn't help but feel like it would feel a little stronger if anything else they did before it was treated with care.

[itllsetyoufree]

“Does this help?” + kara being injured

All things considered, Lena’s Saturday has been startlingly unremarkable so far. The sun is shining, she’d had her usual cup of yogurt with sliced bananas for breakfast, she hasn’t gotten a single off-hours weekend call from work, and she’d even had time to read the Cooking section in the National City Tribune. The biggest thing on her calendar for the day is her weekly movie night with Kara, which she’d been quietly looking forward to since Kara had left her apartment after their movie night the week before.

There was a time in Lena’s life where the easy, almost leisurely flow of her day would have been alarmingly, disarmingly suspect. But with no attempts on her life and L-Corp running smoothly for the last year or so, Lena’s life has settled into something more… quiet. 

And on any other day, it might have continued that way. 

Because noxious gas-breathing, nine-legged alien dragons aren’t typically her problem.

She gets the notification on her phone, of course:

Emergency Alert: Rogue Alien Attacking National City Waterfront— alien is violent and unrestrained, exhales unidentified purple gas. Residents urged to remain indoors and to close all windows.

Lena sighs, rolling her neck to the side and grabbing her phone as she lifts herself off her couch to close her balcony door. Despite having a near-panoramic view of the water, Lena’s apartment is on the other side of town from the docks, but she winds her way around her apartment anyway and closes all of her windows just in case. She’s just shutting the last one when she fires off a text to Kara, telling her to stay inside and to not come over until the alien is taken care of, and don’t even think about going down to the docks to report on it, Kara, I know CatCo doesn’t have gas masks on hand.

She gets a single thumbs up in response, an unusually terse reply from Kara, who never sends one text message when three will do, but Lena doesn’t think much of it and just settles back down on the couch to flip on the news. 

She watches live as the alien positively obliterates several of National City’s piers with three of its arms. The video feed shows people diving out of the way as wet, splintered wood flies in every direction. The esplanade is littered with debris as the alien rears up again, swinging its tail against the surface of the bay and spraying rolling waves of water onto the shore. 

Lena blows out a heavy breath as she watches the destruction unfold before reaching out for her phone again. She’s just hitting send on an email to Jess, telling her to donate funds to the city to rebuild the docks, when the unmitigated panic on screen abruptly stops. 

She sits up straight on the couch as she watches the dragon puff out a billowing cloud of purple smoke. It unfurls along the embankment and the remaining parts of the boardwalk, and slowly engulfs the small crowd of people fleeing the waterfront and the remaining stragglers on the shoreline.

Lena watches, mouth parting in shock, as they all stop running en masse and slow to a halt. The newsfeed goes silent as the crowd stops screaming, even the newscaster losing his breath as everyone stands still, lolling around on their feet as if held up by rubber and not muscle, before they all calmly sink down to the ground and lay down. 

The sweeping shot of everyone resting on the ground seems to spur the news anchor back to life, and he resumes narrating wildly, jabbering and speculating like an auctioneer calling the Superbowl. 

The dragon stops destroying more of the docks to huff out another cloud of smoke at a helicopter nearby. Lena sucks in a breath as the helicopter wobbles in the air over the people on the ground, but it just floats softly down, landing gentle as a feather on the nearest open patch of grass. Lena pinches her eyebrows together, bewildered, but before she can think too much on it, there’s a red and blue streak zooming into the frame. 

Supergirl pulls up behind the dragon, and Lena only has a second to admire the sun glinting off her hair before Supergirl grabs the alien by one of its legs and flings it out toward the sea. 

From there it’s a whirlwind. Supergirl and the alien lunge and splash and swing at each other at a dizzying speed, spinning in the air and dragging each other under the water. The camera holds steady on them for several minutes until one final breathtaking moment. Both Supergirl and the alien breach out of the water and whirl to face one another. Supergirl’s eyes glow for a split second before her heat vision activates and scorches across the dragon’s abdomen. It crashes back to the water with a roar, but just before it sinks beneath the surface, it huffs out one final breath of smoke. 

It catches Supergirl visibly off-guard as she recovers from the fight, gasping for air just as it engulfs her. The newscaster goes silent once more, watching as Supergirl seems to go loose mid-air. She sways a little, drifting in the wind, a glassy, confused look on her face. Lena’s reaching for her phone, ready to call Alex to see if she can help, when Supergirl shakes her head and starts to fly, slowly and unsteadily, away from the scene. 

The newscaster and Lena heave a simultaneous sigh of relief, and Lena lets her phone drop back down to the couch. The news switches back to coverage of the dazed, lethargic people on the shore who seem confused but otherwise unharmed. Lena’s just relaxing back into the cushions, half a mind to open her windows back up to let in the breeze, when she catches movement out of the corner of her eye. 

She turns, watching as Supergirl floats shakily toward her balcony. 

When Supergirl lands, it’s with none of the elegance or athleticism Lena’s come to associate with her. There’s no graceful descent, no landing delicately on one pointed foot or shooting down from the sky to stop on a dime just before she hits the ground. Supergirl drifts closer and closer to her building, one foot outstretched as she reaches Lena’s balcony, but her foot catches on the top of the railing, and she topples over it, hands splayed out to catch herself. She spills over the banister and lands on her chest, legs arching up behind her and feet still hooked over the railing. She looks up at Lena through the glass window, eyes half glazed over and unfocused as her cape slides up the slope of her back to pool at the back of her neck. 

The sight of her, glassy and dazed and draped over her railing like a wet towel spurs Lena into action. She throws the balcony door open and rushes over, dropping to her knees and reaching out to run her hands down the length of Supergirl’s arms, cupping her cheeks and tilting her head to either side to look for bruises. 

“Supergirl! Are you hurt? Can you stand? Come, let’s get you to the DEO.” 

“Hi.” 

Lena stills, pausing her frantic checking of Supergirl’s pulse to actually take stock of the situation. 

Supergirl, seemingly unconcerned by her chin pressing into the concrete or being curled backwards over herself, blinks up at Lena. She looks untroubled, calm, her hair and suit still damp from the water but otherwise right as rain, but the expression on her face is… vacant. Her eyes are glossy, just slightly unfocused, mouth parted as she looks up at Lena. She looks open, unguarded, and completely unaware, and Lena recalibrates. 

“Supergirl, do you know where you are?”

“Your balcony.”

“And do you know who I am?”

“Lena.”

“Does anything hurt?”

“No.” 

“Can you untangle your feet so we can get you up?”

“Oh,” Supergirl remarks, like she hadn’t noticed her feet weren’t under her. She tries to twist around to look over her back at her feet, and she shuffles a little, unhooking the toes of her boots and falling fully onto the stone floor. 

Lena tsks and instinctually reaches out again, grabbing hold of Supergirl’s shoulders and helping her move until she’s sitting upright, propped against the balcony railing. Supergirl leans back against it, blinking slowly and looking blankly around, and Lena finds herself itching for the phone she left in the living room but unwilling to leave the woman in front of her while she’s so vulnerable. 

It isn’t like she hasn’t dealt with an incapacitated Supergirl before. Lena’s saved Supergirl from more than a handful of scrapes in the past couple years, but never like this, never while she was conscious, never while she seemed loopy and almost childlike. It’s easier to maintain her focus, Lena realizes, easier to put the worry aside and work on a fix when Supergirl is in grave danger, in desperate need of help. 

This, with her awake and seemingly fine but so disoriented is throwing Lena off guard. Normal citizens shouldn’t see their city’s hero downed and unconscious, but they shouldn’t see her like this either, unfocused and confused, almost as if she’d been drugged. It’s unsettling, deeply uncomfortable in a way Lena can’t put her finger on, and she can’t help but feel both protective and out of her element at the same time.

“Okay,” Lena says, keeping her voice soft and caring. “How about we get you over to the DEO so they can check you out?”

“No, thanks,” comes the quiet reply. “I’ll stay here.”

It’s Lena’s turn to blink confusedly back at Supergirl, but the woman is looking elsewhere. The soft breeze that’s been blowing all day blows an errant leaf off of one of Lena’s plants and into Supergirl’s lap, and Lena watches, latent sense of panic beginning to grow in her stomach, as Supergirl picks up the leaf and twirls it between her fingers.

“I really think we should get you over to the DEO. You seem a little… off,” Lena says, careful to phrase it as gently as she can to not cause any alarm. “What if I just have Director Danvers come here by herself?” Lena asks, half unsure why she’s humoring Supergirl before she realizes that Supergirl has probably never gone anywhere she didn’t want to go— on account of being strong enough to lift a space station. 

“No,” Supergirl responds again, simply, not rudely, “she’s not invited.”

Lena narrows her eyes at that, trying to sort out what kind of laughing gas this dragon has breathed out. 

“I think I’m in charge of that,” Lena retorts, but she sighs, because Supergirl just looks up at her and smiles dopily. 

“Okay,” Lena tries again. “Will you at least stand up and come inside? I can do some research on how to get these side effects to go away.” 

Supergirl acquiesces this time, or at least Lena thinks she does until Supergirl turns away from the open door to her living room. 

“I’ll stay out here,” she says, words slurring a little as she points to one of Lena’s deck chairs. “Need a little sun.” 

She sways on the spot, as if momentarily suspended by the breeze, before stumbling over to Lena’s deck chair and collapsing onto it. She trips on one of the legs and the chair breaks under her weight, but she doesn’t seem to notice, letting her eyes drift shut and tilting her chin up toward the sun. A small smile crosses her face as the sun warms her, and Lena finds herself unable to hold back a small smile of her own. 

“You’ve got twenty minutes,” Lena says, already planning out her research on alien dragons and a call to Alex in her head. “Then I’m making the call.” 

“Uh uh,” Supergirl hums, eyes still closed, and Lena raises both eyebrows. “Is’fine, Lena. Don’t call. Wanted to come here.”

The longer sentences are starting to ease Lena’s mind, but Supergirl’s response rattles around in her brain and she can’t help but ask.

“Supergirl?”

Supergirl just hums back at her again.

“Why’d you come here instead of going to the DEO?”

“Didn’t want to miss movie night,” she says, calmly while she exhales, like Lena had asked her what day it is and she’d said, ‘Saturday.’

Lena freezes. The pit of panic in her stomach drops out and her whole body clenches at the loss. She stands frozen, staring at the figure laying prone, sprawled out on her deck chair. Lena’s heart pounds. She feels the rapid thudding in her chest, hears it reverberate in her ears. She takes it in, the red boots and skirt, the blue suit, the cape, the blonde hair. 

Her eyes map the features on Supergirl’s face, and she realizes with some modicum of horror how familiar those features are. The point of her chin, the slope of her cheekbones, the nick of the scar above her eyebrow, the slightly upturned, charming pull of her mouth. It’s all— 

“Lena?” those eyebrows scrunch together and it comes out as a whine, and Lena is overcome. 

The panic disappears, instantly replaced by a tidal wave of worry, of affection, of bewilderment, confusion, and a little hurt.

“I’m here,” is what she blurts out in response, dropping onto the adjacent chair and wrapping her hand around Supergirl’s— Kara’s?— wrist, gentle, caring. “Hey, hey, I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Mhmm” Supergirl hums again, twisting her wrist to take hold of Lena’s hand. “Better already. Just need a nap and then we can watch a movie, okay?” Her voice is light and airy, and the smile droops off her face as she begins to fall asleep, but Lena can’t let her go, can’t be left alone with her racing mind. She needs to know, needs to be sure, and with a pounding heart, she presses on.

“Have—” Lena starts. Her voice cracks and she clears her throat and tries again, wiping the hand not enclosed in Supergirl’s tiredly across her brow. “Have you thought about what movie you want to see?”

“Which Star Wars are we up to?” Supergirl mumbles, half-asleep, and Lena feels her whole body clench with the confirmation as she sweeps her eyes up and down the figure in front of her with renewed worry, checking for injuries she knows aren’t there, because it’s Kara, it’s Kara, it’s Kara.

“Episode Six,” she whispers, tightening her hand around Kara’s. 

“That one. ‘S a good one.” Kara breathes back. 

Kara shifts on the chair a little bit, and small as the movement is, Lena thinks it looks the tiniest more purposeful, the tiniest bit less loose and floppy, and Lena feels her shoulders relax with it. It shifts something in her, the worry beginning to melt into a tender form of annoyance and she decides to push a little more. 

“Are you hungry?”

“Mm,” Kara hums, smiling again. Lena narrows her eyes at her. 

“Do you want Big Belly Burger for dinner like last time?”

“Mhmm yeah,” Kara murmurs, “and those fries that I like.”

Lena smirks, raising an eyebrow, but Kara is completely unaware. Lena squeezes her hand and stands. “I’ll order the food, and you can nap until it gets here, okay?”

“Mhmm thanks, Lena.”

“You’re welcome, Kara,” she says pointedly, but Kara doesn’t notice. Lena watches her smile in her half-asleep doze, her hand twitching a little until the smile droops off her face and she falls asleep just like that. Lena stands there, gaping at her for a moment, then makes her way inside.

Twenty minutes later, after a text to Alex and enough time spent slowing her racing heart, enough time spent with the news to know that the gas wears off on its own, eventually, she hears a sigh and a creak from outside. Supergirl— Kara, god, it’s Kara— is stretching on the deck chair, which appears to be hanging on for dear life, and Lena lifts herself off the couch, grabbing the bag next to her and making her way back outside.

She sets a glass of water down on the drinks table next to Kara’s head, watching as she shifts in the sun but doesn’t open her eyes. 

“How are you feeling, Supergirl?”

“Mhmm, good, sleepy,” Kara yawns.

“They pulled that dragon out of the bay,” Lena says casually, crossing her arms. “You did a great job. No one’s hurt. The effects of the gas seem to subside on their own.”

“Good,” Kara murmurs, tilting her head up into the sun again. “That’s good.” 

“The food’s here too,” Lena informs her, unable to hold back a smirk. “I got us a couple shakes as well.”

“Thanks,” Kara sighs happily. You’re the best.”

“But Kara?”

“Mmph?”

“You have to change out of your suit first. Wouldn’t want to get any residual alien goop on my couch.”

It’s exactly as satisfying as she thought it would be. Kara’s loose, floppy posture stiffens as her spine snaps straight, her eyes flying open as the chair finally gives out from under her. Lena watches the wheels turn once Kara hits the ground, sees Kara’s eyes bug out when they make eye contact. Kara’s flick down to look at her suit, then back up to Lena. 

Lena twists her wrist, letting the paper bag swing out toward Kara. 

“Your fries?”

[misssophiachase]

All You Never Say - Pt 2

Hey! I’m so glad you all liked the first part (thanks to the anon who prompted me), you can read it HERE on Tumblr or follow it on AO3 HERE for future updates. Shout out to @sekretny13 because I totally did that shirtless Klaus thing we discussed. 

Synopsis: One wedding and a confused maid of honour and best man with years of pent up feelings and unresolved tension.

Dr Grayson and Mrs Miranda Pierce and Mr Mikael and Mrs Esther Mikaelson cordially invite you to a garden party

To celebrate the upcoming nuptials of their children 

Dr Katherine Pierce and the Right Honourable Elijah Mikaelson 

At The River House on June twentieth, twenty twenty one at 1700h in Ely Cambridgeshire

Dress: Cocktail

All I'll never know is if you want me oh

3 days before the nuptials - Ely River House, Cambridgeshire - 6:53pm

“You’re the bride, the least you could have done was revoked his plus one,” Rebekah muttered.

“He’s also the best man and brother of the groom,” Katherine shot back tersely then remembered where she was and sent a dazzling smile in the direction of her soon-to-be Aunt Penelope. “Trust me, if I could have uninvited the she-wolf I would have.”

“How can someone that pretty be so ugly in the personality department?” Bonnie asked. “She knows my name but has taken to calling me Belinda anyway.” 

Caroline could relate given her new name was apparently Carly.

“She told me my wedding festivities were folksy and quaint,” Kat growled. “I have a mind to stick my folksy wedding up her…”

“Unfortunately, my brother has the worst taste in women but I suppose that isn’t anything new but this time he isn’t the only one interested.”

“Yes, I noticed your parents fawning all over her,” Bonnie noted. “I’m imagining it’s more about her being the heir to an oil fortune rather than the person herself.”

“You’ve got that right,” Rebekah replied. “Although, they seem to be the only ones. Usually Nik just gets bored with them and moves on and this one seems to be staying around much longer than expected which is so strange.”

Caroline was standing near enough to hear her friend’s conversation but far away so she wasn’t tempted to comment on his date. She had no intention of ever letting her friends know the annoying feelings she harboured for Klaus. 

The parents of the bride had insisted upon hosting the welcome party as a thank you to the Mikaelsons for hosting the reception. Esther, of course, had seen to it that even though the celebration wasn’t being held in their name she still made sure her signature touches were on display, much to the chagrin of Miranda Pierce. 

They’d chosen the Ely River House for the occasion. A beautiful and contemporary venue on the water that showcased the best the town had to offer, including the cathedral they were to be married in as part of the backdrop. 

Caroline, ever the dutiful maid of honour,  had been busily working alongside Miranda to help make this event perfect. She knew how overrun the Pierce family had felt by the Mikaelsons during the planning stages and wanted to help them make this cocktail party the best it could be. 

Obviously her motives weren’t completely selfless and helping out meant she didn’t need to focus on him. 

With her. 

She looked beautiful in a red, strapless gown but given her profession there were no surprises there. Caroline then made the mistake of glancing over and noticing how his hand teased the small of her back as they laughed and chatted with family. It was familiar and affectionate. She looked away but it was too late because it hurt.   

“Refill?’ She asked Rebekah, taking her glass before she could even respond. Weaving her way through the guests Caroline decided she needed a time-out and the sooner the better. 

Given the weather most of the party goers were outside and so the staff were handing out drinks on trays. The bar inside was empty at the moment and Caroline decided to put herself to good use by replenishing Rebekah’s drink.

She made her way behind the bar and found a bottle of champagne deciding that she could open it herself. I mean how hard could it be? 

Difficult as she found out. Why did it always seem so effortless when they did it on TV and in movies? However this one wasn’t going to budge, that much she knew. She tried again, pulling as hard as she could.

“Don’t shoot!” She looked up into his familiar, blue eyes. Why did he have to look so good in an open collar shirt and jacket?

“Funny,” she shot back. 

“Need my help with anything, love?” 

“Well, not with playing poker obviously.”

“Ouch, way to punch a guy where it hurts,” he groaned, pretending to be in pain. 

“Well, that oversized and overinflated ego of yours could do with some wounding, Mikaelson. I’m just upset it has taken me so long to finally land that perfect blow.” 

He didn’t respond immediately, just gazed at her, his expression a mixture of curiosity and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on.  

“Well, how kind of you. So, given all of your generous humility, how about I give you a hand? Don’t want to knock anyone’s eyes out, do we sweetheart?” 

She noticed his eyes blazing now, was that anger or something else entirely? Caroline decided it was best not to wonder. 

“Or you could leave in case such an impending disaster were to befall you?” He looked at her, clearly unmoved. “You know I’m not some damsel in distress that needs your assistance, I am perfectly capable of opening this bottle myself,” she huffed, feeling her composure slipping away. 

Bastard.

“By all means,” he smiled, taking a seat on the nearest barstool and watching her in anticipation.

“You can’t just sit there and watch me.”

“Oh no? Last time I checked this was a free country and I have every right to sit anywhere I want. As the lawyer in the room, I’m sure you can back me up on that argument.”

“You are so…”

“Handsome, charming and brilliant?”

“I was going to say arrogant, childish and smug,” she bit back. “And, as the lawyer in the room, if this cork does happen to hit you I’ll testify that you refused to leave the scene after considerable warning on my part.”

“I’ll take those chances,” he smirked, taking her by surprise and fluidly moving behind the bar. “And I’ll even offer my assistance, if not just so these people can drink sometime this century.”

What she wasn’t expecting was for him to slip in behind her, his hands connecting with hers and running them enticingly up and down the chilled, champagne bottle. She shivered involuntarily hoping he hadn’t felt it in the process. 

“What exactly do you think you’re doing, Mikaelson?” She asked, trying to contain the unwanted tremble in her voice. 

“Exactly what I said. Helping,” he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as his hands covered hers. “Now, what you need to do is place your thumb right here and caress the cork gently until you feel it disengage.”

Why did she automatically think of untoward things when he uttered the words ‘caress’ and ‘disengage’? 

It didn’t help that her back was moulding perfectly against his toned chest either and there was something else she could feel.

Was that? 

Was he?

Before she could wonder anymore, the cork popped, flying across the room and sending a huge spray of bubbling liquid shooting out all over the bar. Caroline jumped in surprise, accidentally turning the bottle around and drenching them in the process. 

Before too long they were both in fits of laughter unable to control it. He wound his arms around her waist attempting to rub the excess champagne on her while she squirmed in his warm grasp attempting to get away. 

Well, sort of. If Caroline was being honest it felt good. 

Too good. 

Their laughter died down, almost as if they realised just how intimate their proximity and position was. After over a decade of knowing each other they’d never been this close, well except for that night two years earlier.  

“I’m just glad I never asked you two to be waiters today,” a voice interrupted. Caroline turned her head, noticing Miranda Pierce staring at them both amusingly with her hands folded across her chest. Caroline moved away, albeit reluctantly. “How about you two clean yourselves up and get back to the party, speeches will be in fifteen minutes.”

She was gone before either could reply. Then it hit her. 

“Speeches in fifteen minutes? I can’t make a speech looking like this,” she squeaked, looking down at her champagne soaked dress which was fast becoming a see through garment. “Why the hell did I decide that wearing white was a good idea? Should have gone with red or something.”

It slipped out before she could stop it. Why did she have to mention the exact colour Hayley was wearing? The last thing she wanted was to seem jealous or insecure over his girlfriend. 

“I much prefer the white,” he murmured. Caroline not sure if he was just being kind or it was something to do with its new, transparent features but given the way his eyes were trained on hers and not the dress she wasn’t quite sure. “As for the speech, you’re Caroline Elizabeth Forbes, you’ve got this.”

He remembered her middle name? Yes, they’d known each other a while but it seemed like something Klaus Mikaelson wouldn’t do. Or so she’d thought. 

“I look more like the maid of dishonour who’s been bathing in half of the liquor tab,” she hissed. “I can’t go out there like this.”

“Yes, you can,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. It had an immediate calming effect, something she wasn’t accustomed to. “Go to the bathroom, use the hand dryer. I’ll send in Bonnie because, well we all know she’s the most practical in an emergency, and I’ll try out my best man jokes during my speech. I’ve always had this dream of becoming a stand-up comedian.”

“Who are you?”

��Wouldn’t you like to know, love,” he teased, curving those crimson lips into an enticing smile. “Now, go on.”

She did leave, but all Caroline wanted to do was turn around to see if he was still watching. 

She was in big trouble and not because of her dress and that impending speech.

2 days before the nuptials - Kensington-Foster Atelier, Ely Cambridgeshire - 10:29am

“Tails are so uncomfortable and so last season, brother,” Kol complained, inspecting himself in the large mirror. 

The groomsmen were having their final fitting before the big day. Klaus had long since blocked out Kol’s incessant whining and was distractedly playing with the hemming pins on the nearby table.

He thought being home would make him feel more comfortable and at ease but it was just the opposite. Klaus hadn’t planned on a surprise champagne incident followed by the maid of honour firmly ensconced in his embrace. If he had his way, he’d have never let her go. 

Klaus told himself that after the poker match he’d keep his distance from Caroline. She’d been stirring up feelings this week that he’d worked hard for years to contain. He had no intention of letting one night from two years ago betray his feelings. 

Also, as disingenuous as it might sound, Klaus had a girlfriend and would not betray her either.  Although, it didn’t help that Hayley was wearing on his last nerve. Ever since she’d arrived nothing seemed to be quite good enough. Given these were his family and friends that didn’t sit well with Klaus.  

“Last time I checked tails never go out of style, especially when the dress code is white tie,” Elijah responded tartly, breaking Klaus from his thoughts. 

“I do look devilishly handsome, so I suppose it will do the job.”

“Trying to impress anyone in particular or just planning to pester the entire female guest list?” Enzo asked. 

“Well, usually at these things a groomsman can rely on picking up a bridesmaid or two but I seem to have lucked out in that department.”

“I hope so given one is your own sister,” he chuckled. 

“I’ll let you have her,” he smiled deviously. Klaus looked over noticing just how pink his best friend’s face had turned at that unexpected comment. 

“How very kind of you, but you know Beks and I are more about the fighting than the loving.” Enzo replied dismissively, finally finding his words. Klaus couldn’t help but think just how delusional his future brother-in-law was but he figured he’d get it eventually. They both would. “I suppose there’s always Bonnie for you then, Kol,” he pressed on, clearly an attempt to get some form of payback. 

This time it was Kol’s turn to blush.

“To be honest, I always thought you two would find your way back together,” Elijah said straightening his tie, making them all look at him curiously. “What? I have opinions, is that so difficult to believe?”

“You’re a politician, so when it comes to the affairs of state, no,” Klaus offered bluntly. “But why does it sound like you’re channeling Katherine Pierce right now?”

“I do have a mind of my own.”

“Sure you do,” the three responded in unison then broke into laughter. 

“You’re all hilarious.”   

“Anyway, Bonnie and I are ancient history,” Kol explained after a few minutes, almost as if he’d been thinking about it all that time. “I suppose maybe sweet Caroline might...”

“Over my dead body,” Klaus blurted out. Three sets of brown eyes clapped on him. This wasn’t how Klaus saw things going in his head. So much for being discreet and containing his feelings. 

“Bloody finally,” Enzo grinned. “We’ve only been waiting for that confession since boarding school.” 

They were? Klaus couldn’t recall what he’d done during that time given he and Caroline barely got along, fought incessantly and he’d also dated half the girls in her class. Was there something between them back then he’d been too ignorant to see? Given his current feelings, maybe so. 

“Yes, you always were rather transparent when it came to Caroline, Niklaus,” Elijah agreed. 

“I was not,” he shot back childishly, thinking denial would have been a much better counter attack. Clearly he wasn’t in his right mind. 

“Even Kol knew about it and we all know what that means, Nik,” Enzo offered.  

“If that is your way of insulting me then you need to try harder,” he growled. “While this confession has been a long time coming is everyone forgetting that Niklaus has a girlfriend? You know brunette, beautiful but extremely bossy?”

“I’ve not admitted anything,” Klaus baulked, feeling increasingly guilty. “And even if I had, Kol is right.”

“Finally someone gives me the credit I deserve,” he joked. “But if you’re experiencing a dilemma we could swap, even if yours is a bit on the high maintenance side.”

“I didn’t realise Caroline was yours to swap, Kol,” he murmured, again regretting that choice of response. Then he added what he probably should have said first. “And that’s no way to speak about Hayley, I mean she is bossy but…”

“Mother and father love her because all they can see are oil fields and dollar signs in their future,” Kol mused. “If anything that would be a sign to end things immediately.”

“Mother and father like Katherine,” Elijah commented, clearly perplexed. “And I wouldn’t dream of ending anything.”

“Chill, Elijah,” Kol answered. “You two have found the perfect balance but Niklaus here doesn’t like his girlfriend anywhere near as much as you love your fiance.”

“Why is Kol suddenly the expert on love and relationships, have we entered the twilight zone?” Enzo asked, humming the theme tune for added effect. 

“Laugh all you like, Lorenzo, but you know I’m right.” 

Klaus hated to admit it but his brother had a point, not that he’d tell anyone that. But what was he supposed to do? Caroline hadn’t given him any reason to think she liked him the same way. 

Later that night, Mikaelson Manor - Ely, Cambridgeshire - 11:59pm

“This is not happening, this is so not happening,” Caroline said, repeating it like a mantra and hoping that somehow it would calm her and solve her most pressing issue. 

She’d ventured into the manor’s vast gardens on a mission. Yes, it was pitch black and her torch was barely doing its job. It was also midnight and she was seriously rethinking her attire of shorts and a tank top, even if it was summer. 

Caroline decided to blame her unpreparedness on Kol and the story he’d told after dinner about their ancestor Sir Henry Stirling who apparently lost his head for treason and walked the grounds in search of it every night.  

It wouldn’t be so scary if she were tucked up in bed in her room but here she was trying to find something extremely important in the grand scheme of the wedding and marriage as a whole which she’d stupidly lost earlier in the afternoon. 

Some Maid of Honour she was. 

She’d been too busy thinking about a certain guy who decided to tease her then rub up against her and then distract the crowd with jokes so she could make herself speech-ready. To say she was confused was an understatement.

He also had a girlfriend so that added to the mess. 

The girls had picnicked on the grounds that afternoon. The sun was shining brightly and they’d decided to forget the wedding plans for once and just enjoy themselves. It wasn’t difficult given their beautiful surroundings and the abundance of wine. Caroline couldn’t believe this was her best friend’s life and would be lying if she wasn’t slightly jealous. 

Of the four of them, Caroline was the only one who was truly unattached. If you asked Rebekah and Bonnie they were too but everyone knew that they would end up with Enzo and Kol, as they should. They were meant for each other and it was only a matter of time in her opinion. 

But she was the odd one out and in Caroline’s mind she always had been. She liked being different but at the same time it had its drawbacks. Weeks like this only amplified it. 

She heard a noise behind her, like a rustling in the bushes. Caroline pointed her torch at the noise hoping Sir Henry wasn’t going to take her head as a substitute. “I don’t have your head, sir, I promise.”

Okay, not the most suave thing she could have said at that moment. 

“I can’t believe you of all people would believe Kol,” the voice was unexpected but familiar. In fact it caused some of the chills she’d been experiencing to defrost. She moved her torch to the left catching him in the light. 

And what a sight it was.

Klaus Mikaelson. 

Shirtless. 

Caroline felt the torch wavering in her hand and only just managed to maintain control before it dropped to the ground. Clearly she wasn’t the only one poorly dressed for the occasion. 

“What are you doing here?” She hissed. 

“I believe I should be asking the same question of you, love,” he murmured, the sleep in his voice evident. “I heard noise outside my window and saw the torch light so came out to investigate.”

“Naked?” Okay, it came out before she could stop it. At least he couldn’t see her blush in the dark. 

“Yes, because I would definitely waste all my time throwing on clothes if I saw someone attempting to break into my house,” he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Although, you seemed to have underdressed for the occasion too if my eyes aren’t deceiving me.”

“No need to be so snarky, Mikaelson.” Caroline decided not to address her outfit as it would just complicate the situation. 

“Says the girl who woke me up,” he shot back. “Please tell me there is a perfectly reasonable reason for you to be skulking around the property at this time of night?”

“I’m not skulking.” Okay maybe she was skulking but it was all for a good cause. His prolonged silence was telling her he was impatient for an explanation. “Fine, I might have lost the wedding ring and I’m trying to find it before anyone else notices.”

“Please tell me I can put this in my speech.”

“That’s seriously your take back from this whole scenario? Your maturity astounds me. Just shut up and help me find it you idiot.”

“Not until you tell me how exactly this happened in the first place, love. You have my full attention.”

A/N Stay tuned for the midnight wedding ring search, the rehearsal dinner and so much more.

[kneipho]

Sumbitted by: @mantrabay​

Ballroom In The Sky.

Gazing with his mouth wide open towards a sullen evening sky dotted with jet black clouds

Geoff Wild weeps.

He was on his knees on this grass-strewn, unkempt graveyard.

Two years later and her memory still lingers.

The sudden passing of his loved one had left this middle-aged man gaunt, ashen faced and skeletal. Wild’s troubled expression had become a haunted house of uncanny notions and strange secrets waiting to flow from his water-logged eyes. Those circumstances surrounding Violet’s death were never clear.

Velvet Heart was Geoff’s courtship name for Violet.

Was it a death wish or an accidental fall from their elegant townhouse?

Death through misadventure was the colourful term used.

“Cherish all those wonderful experiences we had. Whichever one of us dies first.”

Violet actually said.

Almost as if she had some premonition.

This was six months before she passed away. .An endless see-saw of creepy dawning’s convulsed him.

Yet Wild fondly recalled when they first met at the Skyline Ballroom.

The Skyline was a battered tumbledown barn whose allure was its availability.

The chipped hardwood floor and the dusty pale cream walls with paint flakes that peeled off only confirmed its tenement status. It was known locally as the “Creaking Beam”” due to its ghostly acoustics and flickering lights. Here in this spooky venue Geoff and Violet had their earliest encounter. Wild remembered her radiant smiles.

The ripples of long dark hair, her apple blossom cheeks and of course her angelic aura..

On that night she wore a polka dot ruche dress, amethyst ear pendants, whilst sporting satin moccasins.

“Have I the gumption? The courage.

A faint heart etc.” Geoff could hear his heart flutter as he did his tightrope walk toward her.

“May I dance with you?” Geoff asked.

Velvet heart’s hands formed a lazy arch and her dainty fingers curled inwards.

“Of course. I would be delighted.” Violet spoke in that pear drop tone which beguiled everybody.

Geoff, the local journalist and writer was in seventh heaven.

They never forgot that enchanting song they first danced to, “Ballroom In The Sky.”

The song was performed by Valerie And The Blue Skies.

They weren’t very big but had a cult following..

Geoff could see how similar Violet and Valerie were.

They were mirror images of each other.

Even in speech and humour.

Valerie was based in a remote enigmatic area.

She used to refer to songs as role plays.

“You feel as though you are a member of the audience.” Valerie remarked.

Violet did admit to meeting Valerie casually and for autograph purposes but not otherwise or so it seemed.

It was amazing how “ Ballroom In The Sky” with its airy ascending rock chords and jaunty jazz lines could draw Violet, Valerie and Geoff into a peculiar triangle.

The sudden moody breaks, abrupt silences built a momentary cocoon.

Valerie’s top sideman….well, he was known as Silent Sam.

He had a track record of sorts.

Sam’s blue attire was appropriate.

He wore a large trilby hat tipped over his forehead sheltering his pointed face and pencil slim physique.

He, Sam, was short-sighted when it suited and eccentric.

Practical jokes were his forte and the impish grin.

“Yep ..Yup….or Sure.“

These were the only asides from this oddball sidemen for the most part.

He was accident prone.

Valerie had to indicate where things were. Theirs was a sign language of its own complete with slanted facial squirms.

One wondered if there was a deeper relationship between them.

Those Blue Skies airs were fillers without Sam.

Every time “Ballroom In The Sky” was played Valerie, Violet and Geoff were sharing unwittingly a secret.

The startled looks were part of this outlandish ritual.

Wild recalled now.

“Valerie could croon in a real hypnotic fashion. Everyone in the dancehall was enthralled. People would sway like ice skaters one moment, waltz in a swan-like manner the next and just as often rave in the isles like end of term teenagers.”

Geoff whispers in the graveyard.

“JUST A PASSING DREAM………..STILL SO VIVID…….DANCING IN HEAVEN…… KISSES ALL AROUND….MAGIC HAND……..A LITTLE BIT BLIND, and of course “BALLROOM IN THE SKY.”

Geoff and Violet would swing religiously to those fantasy songs every Sunday as their courtship blossomed.

“Ballroom In The Sky “ was always the highpoint.

This constellation of events occurred in a scenic nineteen seventies spot.

Despite its haunting vistas and backdrop of panoramic hills it resembled a ghost town. Openings were few against an infinite spiral of closing factories, bookstores with half-empty shelves and shopkeepers peering out of doors.

Ten years earlier it was a beacon. “I shudder to think……A jigsaw puzzle.”

Geoff surveying the cemetery.

Such memories could have been taken directly from some movie script. “Yes .. it was a hub that Skyline. Like homeless drifters, the folk who attended.”

Geoff again.

They were fugitives.

Escapees from that heavy-handed dole queue void.

Suddenly something happened.

“What the heavens is? Snap….a branch.” Momentary jitters engulfing Wild.

He shook in concert with the overarching colonnade of brown edge green leaf trees.

An eerie rustling dewdrop tiptoe now caressing Geoff’s ears.

”Up there somewhere Velvet Heart?

Dancing in the heavens?”

Nervous laughter now relief road to that traffic jam of sentiment about to speed off.

Glued to the spot that macabre sixth sense of Violet hovering above evaporates due to an illusory late evening sun shaft.

Wild could no longer hide from Valerie and Velvet Heart’s identities.

“Oh those comic jibes and piercing glances. Some ethereal intrigues were passing through the air.”

Geoff recalls with forensic clarity.

Poor Silent Sam would do his usual u-turn into the shadow.

Two months before Geoff’s and Violet’s parting, an incident occurred.

Memory is a lodger which steadfastly refuses to surrender its keys.

Valerie and the Blue Skies were in flying form as the tunes morphed into each other.

Valerie and Velvet Heart were magnets for men.

Violet caught Geoff off guard.

“Guilty conscience, there Geoff?”

Having fantasies about Valerie.

Focus on me.

As for that eternity ring remember?”

Those penetrating peepers of Violet knew how to vet a body in a flash.

“Oh no …..not at all.” Geoff with a looping

smirk.

“Just those mystical melodies working their spell.” He said.

“You came into my life like…. a new dawn.” Wild poetically.

“You honey tongue you. Geoff our song. Ballroom.” Violet mutters.

Valerie nodded towards Sam.

Her expression was a hard to decipher veil and deep code command.

“Get those fingers flying, Sam.”

In a tone almost identical to Velvet Heart.

Sam didn’t always act immediately.

“Yep.. Yup …Sure.” Sam’s stock retort.

“Ballroom In The Sky” now strong as ever cast its bewitching spell throughout the venue.

A medley was included tonight.

“SOMEONE FOR EVERYONE” ( Sam looked at Valerie), “A LITTLE BIT BLIND” ( Sam staring vacantly at both Valerie and Violet), “MIND YOUR STEP( Sam winking at Geoff while scrunching the mouth at Violet).

Violet edged toward the stage.

A dim-lit silence ensued.

Ballroom started again. Valerie and Violet now singing this tune. An eerie vacuum filled this dancehall.

A triangular crush of people occurred near the stage with Geoff in toe.

Valerie handed Violet a letter.

Sam was now talking tersely to Valerie.

A misted over photo gallery memory blur in place.

“Pst…Pst. Your Velvet Heart is back to haunt you.“ Violet’s lofty twang.

“What in the name….I can’t phantom…..fathom.” Geoff shudders.

Violet’s voice a wet whisper stretching over twigs that simultaneously tap against windows.

She pulled back an orchard pattern duvet covering Geoff.

“Fell asleep at your favourite film, The Passing Of A Velvet Heart. All those graveyard scenes shot in our small town remember?

We know Silent Sam wrote the soundtrack for the film along with Ballroom. He sings on that one.” Violet recounts.

“Incredibly you chose Velvet Heart as your courtship name for me based on the film.

The film was never a huge success but did get our area limited publicity.

Sam earned extra royalties from the soundtrack.

Valerie and Sam tying the knot next Sunday of all days.

As for that love letter you mumbled about.

It’s an invite to their secret wedding.

Very private. As Sam is.

What a time and place he chose for the invitation.

During that ethereal love song which brought us together.” Violet observes.

“Poor Sam’s a little bit blind a

on occasions or is he?

I was upstairs on the flat roof today.

Six months ago I fell off it.

You’ve never liked me being up there since.”

Violet continuing.

“Guilty secret must confess. I used to be onstage instead of Valerie.

Well, sometimes.

She was dating you pretending to be me.

We never knew each other that well but it was a dare worked out between us.“

Geoff shouted. “Hoodwinked.”

An incredulous look ripples over Wild’s pale face.

Violet’s eyes now ablaze.

“You never noticed did you? Deep down.”

The tease in Violet surfacing..

Geoff was thunderstruck.

Violet strolled towards their CD player on the mahogany table.

“Think you’ll like this one. Our song.”

Violet stated.

“May I dance with you?”

Geoff smiled. “Of course. I would be delighted.

And relieved!”

Silent Sam’s voice weaves in his own inimitable shy way a song usually sung by Valerie, his wife to be.

And sometimes Violet, or Velvet Heart.

A number that united three people in the most curious and otherworldly manner!

“Yep….Yup ….Sure.”

As Sam was in the habit of saying!

mantrabay photograph and short story copyright protected.

Thanks for reading my works

.

[snarkybluechristian]

Villainous: Reform School Chapter 36

505 placed Melanie on the couch of the living room and put a blanket over her while he walked over to the TV and used a remote to pick out a movie while Melanie laid down and curled up under her blanket in a ball of misery.

505 chose a movie, but after only a few minutes, a sad scene came up. Melanie sniffled sadly, and 505 immediately ended that movie and chose another movie.

The next chosen movie was even sadder than the movie before. The next chosen movie was even sadder than that. 505 kept flipping through movies, but every movie was sadder than the last.

Finally, when 505 was on the fifth movie, Flug came in with their pizza.

“Okay, guys, it’s dinnertime,” Flug said, putting the open pizza box on the coffee table and seeing Melanie still curled up in her miserable ball under her blanket. “So, 505, how is she doing?”

505 paused the movie, looked at Melanie, looked back at Flug, and shook his head sadly.

Melanie rolled over to face the couch and refused to look at Flug.

505 sat down next to Melanie and rubbed her back while looking at his dad to ask what he should do.

Though he wasn’t the most emotionally intelligent man, Flug partly wished he could help.

After wracking his brain for a moment, Flug suggested, “How about you get her some ice cream and some soda? I’m sure that’ll help her feel better.”

505 nodded his head excitedly and left the room to retrieve the ice cream, leaving Melanie alone with Flug.

Melanie rolled over on the couch, grabbed a slice of pizza, saw Flug looking at her, and quickly rolled back over to avoid looking at him.

“The pizza has spinach on it to help with rebuilding your blood supply,” Flug said, not knowing what else to say.

“Thanks,” Melanie said, without changing her position. “I’m sorry about flapping sand at you. I was really pissed off, and it was super childish.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Flug said. “But remember what we said about apologizing.”

Melanie remained silent and ate her slice of pizza.

Flug awkwardly sat down on the couch next to her. Melanie quickly moved to the opposite side of the couch to avoid being near him and sat down, continuing to eat her pizza until it was all gone.

Flug tapped his knees in a bored tic and asked himself, “What time is it?”

Before he could check his watch, Melanie sat down, checked her phone, and replied, “It’s almost 6. But I think it’s time for me to go home.”

“But we are home,” Flug said.

“No, I’m not,” Melanie replied sadly.

“Well, it’s the closest thing you have to a home for now,” Flug said. “Would you really be much better off with your family?”

“I could manage living with my biological family,” Melanie replied, sadly wrapping the blanket around her body. “I know however misguided they are they care about me. At least, I think they do. They abandoned me here.”

“And how would they make you feel?” Flug inquired.

“Less alone than I feel right now, though not as loved as I felt with my Nunja sisters,” Melanie replied. “I really want to be with them.”

“Perhaps, Black Hat will spare some of them,” Flug said, without thinking through his words.

Melanie’s eyes immediately filled with tears as she glared at Flug and then turned away to weep.

Flug looked away, searching for the right words to say for a second before he replied, “You can still save them…”

“What?!” Melanie asked, pausing her crying to look back at Flug.

“There is a way to protect all your Nunja friends,” Flug explained.

“Huh?” Melanie asked, not believing what she was hearing. “How?”

Flug looked Melanie in the eyes and said, “Give up.”

“What?” Melanie replied incredulously.

“It’s simple really,” Flug began. “You give up and comply with Black Hat. Give him whatever he asks. And it’s possible that Black Hat could show mercy to the rest.”

Melanie scoffed and replied, “Yeah, right. Since when has Black Hat ever showed mercy? And besides, even if I did reply, I’d still be betraying Lucy.”

“If you do as he asks, there are chances of him showing mercy,” Flug explained, pointing one finger into the air before laying his arm on the couch behind him. “Sure, you’d be betraying one of your friends, but you would be saving the rest of them.”

“Lucy’s my friend!” Melanie snapped back angrily. “She showed me the way out! It’s because of her that I now have another life, another family, and a relationship with God!”

“She led you astray and is getting what’s coming to her,” Flug retorted with an eye roll. “It’s her fault you’re in this mess.”

“Excuse me? You mind explaining those statements?” Melanie asked, angrily narrowing her eyes.

“Kasumi made you turn from your path as a true villain and from your real family,” Flug answered with a condescending sneer. “She put you in jeopardy and is ultimately the reason you’re being given all this punishment now.”

“I chose this for myself!” Melanie protested. “Just like Lucy did 20 years ago! She got away from Black Hat and that’s all I want, too!”

“And how has that worked out?” Flug asked coldly, looking at his gloves.

“It’s still worth a shot if I can be free from Black Hat!” Melanie retorted angrily. “I’d rather have my own life and my own mind than be another brainwashed lackey like you and Demencia! I want to be truly happy, not a slave constantly in fear for my life like you! Even if I were to give in, I gain nothing good from giving into Black Hat! He’s a bigger liar than Lucifer!”

“You really think so?” Flug asked skeptically.

“No, I know so,” Melanie replied. “And besides, I don’t regret what I’ve done. I’m happy about the people I’ve helped and the things I’ve learned and the relationships I’ve formed. I’m not going to give that up. It’s more than anything Black Hat could ever offer me.”

Flug breathed out a heavy sigh as he crossed his arms, looked away, and said, “Have it your way then. But the option still stands if you wish to save your friends.”

Too annoyed to come up with a reply, Melanie silently looked in the opposite direction.

Flug and Melanie sat there quietly ignoring each other until 505 returned to the room with soda and ice cream about a minute later.

“Oh, 505, you got ice cream!” Melanie exclaimed, happily breaking the silence. “Thank you!”

505 smiled at seeing Melanie in a better mood and sat between her and Flug on the couch.

For the next hour, the trio ate their pizza and ice cream and drank their soda until they were all satisfied.

Melanie and 505 chatted the whole time while Flug sat on the side and said nothing beyond the occasional comment until they were all done eating.

When the meal was done, Flug finally checked his watch, saw that it was almost 7, and said, “Oh, it’s getting late. It’s time to make our way to your room so that you can get ready for bed.”

“Why?” Melanie asked. “It’s not bedtime yet.”

“Well, your bedtime is at 8 tonight, so I think it’s time that you start getting ready,” Flug replied.

“Do I have to?” Melanie asked annoyedly.

Flug laughed to himself for a moment before he tersely replied, “Yes. Now, come on.”

Melanie rolled her eyes and leaned against 505 for a moment before she grabbed her things, got to her feet, and replied, “Alright. Let’s go.”

“You get her to her room, 505,” Flug said, getting to his feet as well. “Make sure she’s ready for bed on time. Alright?”

With a gentle smile, 505 got to his feet and quickly began ushering Melanie to her room.

“See you soon,” Flug said as 505 and Melanie left the living room.

Melanie said nothing, but 505 walked away with a gentle wave.

When he was alone, Flug took the opportunity to check the alerts from the probes he sent out to look for the seal while they were still walking back to the manor. He was studying their progress and the alerts they sent him when he caught something interesting from about an hour before.

The probes were set to identify any animal that wasn’t native to the island or the surrounding areas and to set an alert and launch a capture when such an animal was found.

Normally, Flug wouldn’t see the need to set the probes for anything other their specific objective, but the doctor had a hunch.

As such, the first probe Flug received an alert from caught sight of the seal for a minute, but the animal disappeared. None of the other probes caught the seal after that or sent any other alerts for anything unusual in water afterwards

However, at that moment, another probe in the air caught something interesting. A seagull surfaced from the ocean at the same spot where the seal had last been seen and flew into the air. That wasn’t unusual, but when the seagull flew past the probe, it had set off an alert and prepared capture nets because that seagull was identified as a juvenile European herring gull, a seagull that had never been spotted in the area before.

As if that wasn’t suspicious enough, as soon as the probe in the air began its pursuit, the young seagull turned its head to look at the probe following it and then began flying evasively to avoid the probe pursuing it.

Flug smiled wickedly under his paper bag. His hunch was correct. The creature Melanie was talking to was not just a trained seal. It was a shapeshifter in disguise, most likely another Nunja with supernatural abilities like Melanie was.

Flug watched the probe chase the seagull through the air until the seagull flew towards the island. The seagull then flew into the city, behind a building, and then it disappeared. The probe scanned the area for any sight of the seagull, but once it couldn’t find her, it returned to scanning the surrounding area.

Flug grunted in frustration as he sent out more probes to cover the island. He now knew that the intruder was a shapeshifter and there were probes all over the island and the ocean to locate her. But because she was a shapeshifter with an unknown level of capabilities, finding her would be extremely difficult. It was going to be a long night, speaking of which…

Flug checked his watch and sighed. It was time to put Melanie to sleep for the night before she got in anymore trouble. He sent a quick report of the probe’s findings and the appropriate clips to his and Black Hat’s computers before picking Melanie’s medication out of his pocket and heading to her room.

Flug sighed more contentedly. With Melanie out, that would be one problem dealt with for the night at least.

Back in her room, Melanie had gone into the bathroom. She quickly used the toilet, brushed her teeth, took a shower, brushed her hair, and changed into her pajamas, an oversized t-shirt and shorts.

When she was done, Melanie headed back into her room to sit on her bed and watch her laptop with 505.

Unfortunately, that was when Melanie heard a knock at the door.

Melanie gave an annoyed look to 505 before she said, “Come on in.”

Flug opened the door and entered the room holding a bottle of pills and a water bottle.

“What are you doing here?” Melanie asked, checking her phone to confirm her suspicions. “It’s not 8 yet.”

“No, it’s not,” Flug began. “But if last night is any indicator, the medication will not take effect for another 30 minutes. So, to ensure you go to sleep at your set time, you will be taking your medication early now that you’re ready for bed so that you’ll be asleep when your official bedtime rolls around.”

“What?!” Melanie exclaimed incredulously. “You gotta be kidding! That’s not fair!”

“Oh, I didn’t know we were supposed to be fair in here,” Flug retorted sarcastically.

“I don’t wanna take it,” Melanie complained. “It’s too early.”

“Keep whining and see what happens,” Flug replied with a sneer as he twisted the bottle of pills open and took a pill out for Melanie.

Melanie grumbled under her breath in French as she took the pill from Flug, dropped it in her mouth, and drank some water from the water bottle to wash it down.

“There,” Flug said condescendingly. “Was that so hard? You’d think after the day we had that you’d be jumping at the chance to go to sleep.”

“With the day I’ve had, I’ll be surprised if I fall asleep at all,” Melanie retorted.

“Yeah, well, despite the many admittedly negative occurrences today, mostly brought about by your behavior I might add, I think we’ve made some excellent progress,” Flug said, ushering Melanie over to her bed.

“So that’s what you call a day of inflicting psychological and physical trauma…HEY!” Melanie replied sarcastically as she felt Flug moving her hair to the side. “What are you doing?”

“Checking your stitches,” Flug said, pulling some more bandages out of his pocket to replace the ones Melanie had taken off in the shower. “They appear to be healing well.”

“Thank God,” Melanie said, reluctantly standing still while Flug put clean bandages over her stitches. “That’s one thing you’re good at, at least. You could be a doctor helping people instead of helping the evil demon god torture me. What a sad waste of talent.”

Flug sighed as he finished his work and said, “I’ll have you know my talents are well-utilized here.”

“Yes, I’m sure making my life miserable is very entertaining for you,” Melanie retorted semi-sarcastically.

“You could have it worse,” Flug argued. “It could be Demencia managing your re-education instead of me.”

“At least she wouldn’t drug me every night,” Melanie argued back. “Face it. You’re just as sadistic as Demencia is if not more. Don’t try to deny it. I know it’s true!”

“I only give you medication so you can sleep,” Flug replied.

“Because you don’t trust me to sleep on my own,” Melanie retorted.

“Your parents did say you had trouble sleeping,” Flug reminded her.

“Yeah, you just want to put me to sleep so I don’t cause any trouble,” Melanie argued.

In an effort to stop the arguing, 505 pulled down the sheets and gestured for Melanie to get into bed.

“I will neither confirm nor deny that statement, but I am pleased with the progress we’ve been able to make with you today,” Flug said.

“Yeah, whatever,” Melanie grumbled as she climbed into bed. “Going to sleep means I don’t have to deal with you at least.”

“Way to think positively,” Flug said sarcastically as he turned to leave the room.

Melanie plugged her phone in to charge and unlocked it to check it one more time before she went to sleep.

505 gestured for the phone. Melanie looked at him curiously but handed it over. The bear went on YouTube, picked out a video to play in the background, and set it on the bedside table.

Melanie listened and heard someone speaking in a soft yet pleasant voice.

“What is this, 505?” Melanie asked. “Is this an ASMR video?”

“It’s a bedtime story,” Flug called out from the door. “He’s trying to read you one to help you fall asleep. I play these videos for 505 when he can’t sleep sometimes.”

“Oh,” Melanie replied. “That’s very sweet of you, 505.”

505 nodded his head happily as he pulled the covers over Melanie and tucked her in under the blankets. He then climbed onto the other side of the bed and rested his head on her stomach.

Melanie rubbed his head and said, “Thanks, 505.”

Flug then flipped the lights off and said, “Goodnight, Melanie. I’ll see you in the morning. 505, I’ll see you after she falls asleep.”

505 grunted in agreement, raising his head from his spot on the bed.

“Yeah, whatever,” Melanie replied. “You can go now.”

With a final eye roll, Flug left the room and shut the door behind him.

[creedatelier]

Ballroom In The Sky.

Gazing with his mouth wide open towards a sullen evening sky dotted with jet black clouds

Geoff Wild weeps.

He was on his knees on this grass-strewn, unkempt graveyard.

Two years later and her memory still lingers.

The sudden passing of his loved one had left this middle-aged man gaunt, ashen faced and skeletal. Wild’s troubled expression had become a haunted house of uncanny notions and strange secrets waiting to flow from his water-logged eyes. Those circumstances surrounding Violet’s death were never clear.

Velvet Heart was Geoff’s courtship name for Violet.

Was it a death wish or an accidental fall from their elegant townhouse?

Death through misadventure was the colourful term used.

“Cherish all those wonderful experiences we had. Whichever one of us dies first.”

Violet actually said.

Almost as if she had some premonition.

This was six months before she passed away. .An endless see-saw of creepy dawning’s convulsed him.

Yet Wild fondly recalled when they first met at the Skyline Ballroom.

The Skyline was a battered tumbledown barn whose allure was its availability.

The chipped hardwood floor and the dusty pale cream walls with paint flakes that peeled off only confirmed its tenement status. It was known locally as the “Creaking Beam”” due to its ghostly acoustics and flickering lights. Here in this spooky venue Geoff and Violet had their earliest encounter. Wild remembered her radiant smiles.

The ripples of long dark hair, her apple blossom cheeks and of course her angelic aura..

On that night she wore a polka dot ruche dress, amethyst ear pendants, whilst sporting satin moccasins.

“Have I the gumption? The courage.

A faint heart etc.” Geoff could hear his heart flutter as he did his tightrope walk toward her.

“May I dance with you?” Geoff asked.

Velvet heart’s hands formed a lazy arch and her dainty fingers curled inwards.

“Of course. I would be delighted.” Violet spoke in that pear drop tone which beguiled everybody.

Geoff, the local journalist and writer was in seventh heaven.

They never forgot that enchanting song they first danced to, “Ballroom In The Sky.”

The song was performed by Valerie And The Blue Skies.

They weren’t very big but had a cult following..

Geoff could see how similar Violet and Valerie were.

They were mirror images of each other.

Even in speech and humour.

Valerie was based in a remote enigmatic area.

She used to refer to songs as role plays.

“You feel as though you are a member of the audience.” Valerie remarked.

Violet did admit to meeting Valerie casually and for autograph purposes but not otherwise or so it seemed.

It was amazing how “ Ballroom In The Sky” with its airy ascending rock chords and jaunty jazz lines could draw Violet, Valerie and Geoff into a peculiar triangle.

The sudden moody breaks, abrupt silences built a momentary cocoon.

Valerie’s top sideman....well, he was known as Silent Sam.

He had a track record of sorts.

Sam’s blue attire was appropriate.

He wore a large trilby hat tipped over his forehead sheltering his pointed face and pencil slim physique.

He, Sam, was short-sighted when it suited and eccentric.

Practical jokes were his forte and the impish grin.

“Yep ..Yup....or Sure.“

These were the only asides from this oddball sidemen for the most part.

He was accident prone.

Valerie had to indicate where things were. Theirs was a sign language of its own complete with slanted facial squirms.

One wondered if there was a deeper relationship between them.

Those Blue Skies airs were fillers without Sam.

Every time “Ballroom In The Sky” was played Valerie, Violet and Geoff were sharing unwittingly a secret.

The startled looks were part of this outlandish ritual.

Wild recalled now.

“Valerie could croon in a real hypnotic fashion. Everyone in the dancehall was enthralled. People would sway like ice skaters one moment, waltz in a swan-like manner the next and just as often rave in the isles like end of term teenagers.”

Geoff whispers in the graveyard.

“JUST A PASSING DREAM...........STILL SO VIVID.......DANCING IN HEAVEN...... KISSES ALL AROUND....MAGIC HAND........A LITTLE BIT BLIND, and of course “BALLROOM IN THE SKY.”

Geoff and Violet would swing religiously to those fantasy songs every Sunday as their courtship blossomed.

“Ballroom In The Sky “ was always the highpoint.

This constellation of events occurred in a scenic nineteen seventies spot.

Despite its haunting vistas and backdrop of panoramic hills it resembled a ghost town. Openings were few against an infinite spiral of closing factories, bookstores with half-empty shelves and shopkeepers peering out of doors.

Ten years earlier it was a beacon. “I shudder to think…...A jigsaw puzzle.”

Geoff surveying the cemetery.

Such memories could have been taken directly from some movie script. “Yes .. it was a hub that Skyline. Like homeless drifters, the folk who attended.”

Geoff again.

They were fugitives.

Escapees from that heavy-handed dole queue void.

Suddenly something happened.

“What the heavens is? Snap….a branch.” Momentary jitters engulfing Wild.

He shook in concert with the overarching colonnade of brown edge green leaf trees.

An eerie rustling dewdrop tiptoe now caressing Geoff’s ears.

”Up there somewhere Velvet Heart?

Dancing in the heavens?”

Nervous laughter now relief road to that traffic jam of sentiment about to speed off.

Glued to the spot that macabre sixth sense of Violet hovering above evaporates due to an illusory late evening sun shaft.

Wild could no longer hide from Valerie and Velvet Heart’s identities.

“Oh those comic jibes and piercing glances. Some ethereal intrigues were passing through the air.”

Geoff recalls with forensic clarity.

Poor Silent Sam would do his usual u-turn into the shadow.

Two months before Geoff's and Violet’s parting, an incident occurred.

Memory is a lodger which steadfastly refuses to surrender its keys.

Valerie and the Blue Skies were in flying form as the tunes morphed into each other.

Valerie and Velvet Heart were magnets for men.

Violet caught Geoff off guard.

“Guilty conscience, there Geoff?”

Having fantasies about Valerie.

Focus on me.

As for that eternity ring remember?”

Those penetrating peepers of Violet knew how to vet a body in a flash.

“Oh no .....not at all.” Geoff with a looping

smirk.

“Just those mystical melodies working their spell.” He said.

“You came into my life like.... a new dawn.” Wild poetically.

“You honey tongue you. Geoff our song. Ballroom.” Violet mutters.

Valerie nodded towards Sam.

Her expression was a hard to decipher veil and deep code command.

“Get those fingers flying, Sam.”

In a tone almost identical to Velvet Heart.

Sam didn’t always act immediately.

“Yep.. Yup ...Sure.” Sam’s stock retort.

“Ballroom In The Sky” now strong as ever cast its bewitching spell throughout the venue.

A medley was included tonight.

“SOMEONE FOR EVERYONE” ( Sam looked at Valerie), “A LITTLE BIT BLIND” ( Sam staring vacantly at both Valerie and Violet), “MIND YOUR STEP( Sam winking at Geoff while scrunching the mouth at Violet).

Violet edged toward the stage.

A dim-lit silence ensued.

Ballroom started again. Valerie and Violet now singing this tune. An eerie vacuum filled this dancehall.

A triangular crush of people occurred near the stage with Geoff in toe.

Valerie handed Violet a letter.

Sam was now talking tersely to Valerie.

A misted over photo gallery memory blur in place.

“Pst...Pst. Your Velvet Heart is back to haunt you.“ Violet’s lofty twang.

“What in the name….I can't phantom…..fathom.” Geoff shudders.

Violet’s voice a wet whisper stretching over twigs that simultaneously tap against windows.

She pulled back an orchard pattern duvet covering Geoff.

“Fell asleep at your favourite film, The Passing Of A Velvet Heart. All those graveyard scenes shot in our small town remember?

We know Silent Sam wrote the soundtrack for the film along with Ballroom. He sings on that one.” Violet recounts.

“Incredibly you chose Velvet Heart as your courtship name for me based on the film.

The film was never a huge success but did get our area limited publicity.

Sam earned extra royalties from the soundtrack.

Valerie and Sam tying the knot next Sunday of all days.

As for that love letter you mumbled about.

It’s an invite to their secret wedding.

Very private. As Sam is.

What a time and place he chose for the invitation.

During that ethereal love song which brought us together.” Violet observes.

“Poor Sam’s a little bit blind a

on occasions or is he?

I was upstairs on the flat roof today.

Six months ago I fell off it.

You’ve never liked me being up there since.”

Violet continuing.

“Guilty secret must confess. I used to be onstage instead of Valerie.

Well, sometimes.

She was dating you pretending to be me.

We never knew each other that well but it was a dare worked out between us.“

Geoff shouted. “Hoodwinked.”

An incredulous look ripples over Wild’s pale face.

Violet’s eyes now ablaze.

“You never noticed did you? Deep down.”

The tease in Violet surfacing..

Geoff was thunderstruck.

Violet strolled towards their CD player on the mahogany table.

“Think you’ll like this one. Our song.”

Violet stated.

“May I dance with you?”

Geoff smiled. “Of course. I would be delighted.

And relieved!”

Silent Sam’s voice weaves in his own inimitable shy way a song usually sung by Valerie, his wife to be.

And sometimes Violet, or Velvet Heart.

A number that united three people in the most curious and otherworldly manner!

“Yep….Yup ….Sure.”

As Sam was in the habit of saying!

mantrabay Photograph and Prose Poem Copyright Protected

#creedatelier #blog@creedatelier

.

[jmeelee]

Sterek Bingo 2019 • Theme: Wild Card

1

Cora’s twenty-first birthday party is in full swing when the vibration of an incoming text jiggles Derek’s right ass cheek. He pulls his phone from the pocket of his too-tight jeans to find a befuddling text: There myst be sumething wrong w my eyes.

Derek’s future does not include being an Alpha, and that’s fine; he’ll happily leave the politics, management, and difficult decision-making to his older sister, Laura. Instead, he’s been training the last few years—learning languages and studying cultures and meeting werewolves all over the world—to become his pack’s liaison. He’s young, but his good name and reputation are already circulating, so he automatically thinks, this must be a young werewolf in need of help. Plus, it’s no secret to the supernatural community that his beta-shifted eyes are blue, instead of gold.

His thumb’s hovering over the touchscreen when a drunk girl bumps into him, her red solo cup full of cheap beer exploding like a water balloon all over the front of his olive-green henley. “Oops,” she slurs, lids drooping over bloodshot blue eyes. She gropes his soaked pectorals with her bare hands.

Derek’s eyebrows berate her before he heads for the staircase. He’s tired of pseudo-babysitting intoxicated college kids anyway.

By the time he’s showered off the stale booze and changed into pajamas, almost an hour has passed. He grabs his phone off the nightstand to finally reply to his cryptic messenger, and finds a new text: i can’t take them off of u.

What the hell? It wasn’t a cry for help at all; it was a lame pick up line. Derek’s mood sours as he imagines Cora egging one of her immature girlfriends into sending him the terrible come-on. The culprit is probably downstairs right now. He swipes over the message, deleting it, and powers off his cell before climbing into bed, pulling a pillow over his head to drown out the noise.

He’s so done with this day.

2

A week and a half later Derek’s pushing a cart up and down the aisles at the grocery store when his phone chirps. He stares at the flashing number of the unknown contact, wondering why it looks vaguely familiar before he opens the text. Did you invent the airplane? Because you seem Wright for me.

At least there are no typos this time.

He almost deletes the message right away, but the split second he hesitates gives him an excuse to type back. This is clearly Gustave Whitehead erasure and I won’t stand for it.

The return response comes before he can black out his screen. Dude. Are we having our first fight?

Derek doesn’t hesitate this time. Find someone else to annoy.

Rude.

He puts his phone away and staunchly ignores the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

3

He’s already in bed, and would never have heard the vibration except for his supernatural hearing. My name’s Microsoft. How about I crash at your place.

Derek blinks the sleep from his eyes enough to type back, I own a Mac.

In the morning, he sees the response. Harsh dude.

4

You must be a trumpet because you’re making me horny.

Wow. This is your worst one yet.

Is that a challenge, Derek?

NO!

Did it hurt when you fell from the vending machine? Because you a snack!

Please stop.

5

“Derek, answer that or I’m going to punch you in the face,” Laura threatens between spoonfuls of cookie-dough ice cream. The harsh buzzing of his phone sounds like a jackhammer to their sensitive werewolf ears, and it’s disrupting their movie marathon.

If you were a transformer, you’d be Optimus Fine. Oh lord.

“What’s with the sappy smile, big brother?” Cora coos.

Derek schools his face into a scowl. “Nothing.”

She throws the blanket off her lap and lunges for the phone in his hand. A tussle ensues. Derek is older and stronger, but she’s fast, sneaky and not above fighting dirty, and she grips the phone before he knows what happened. “What the hell is this?” She’s screeching with laughter, holding his cell out so Laura can look. “Who’s sending you lame pick-up lines?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” he gripes. “You put her up to this.”

Cora furrows her brow. “Uh, what?”

“The night of your birthday party, the first pick-up line came through. It was someone at your party. I figured you put her up to it as a joke.”

She checks the number again. “The only person I ever gave your number to was Erica, for official pack business. This isn’t Erica’s number.” She grabs her cell off the coffee table and punches in the digits. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Cora laughs so hard her eyes water.

“Who is she?” Laura asks.

“Not a she.” Cora holds out her phone with a shit-eating grin so Derek and Laura can read her contacts. “It’s Stiles Stilinski.”

Terse silence follows her declaration. Then Derek asks, “Who the fuck is Stiles?”

6 & 7

“Forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one…” Derek counts out his squats in a whisper, monitoring his form in the full-length mirror. He feels his phone vibrate, and the grin reflecting back at him is disgusting. He should be ashamed.

He gently places the weight back on the rack when he completes the set and digs the phone from his mesh shorts.

Is your phone in your back pocket? Because that ass is calling me!

Derek honestly can’t say what possesses him to turn around, open his camera app, and hold the phone over his left shoulder. Perfect timing ur not following me r u? he writes back, attaching a photo of his butt. A dude doing kettlebell lunges across the gym gives him the stink eye.

Stiles answers with a string of peach emojis, which Derek understands, and a single unicorn emoji, which he doesn’t.

I know who you are, btw. Stiles Stilinski, the sheriff's kid? Cora figured it out

Usually, the response comes immediately, but Derek’s walking out to his car before he receives two simultaneous replies.

Well since the cat (be gr8ful i didn’t say pussy) is out of the bag

my mother used to tell me to follow my dreams so… where will you be tonight?

Derek sits behind the wheel, staring at his phone, weighing the pros and cons. He’s never gone on a blind date before, and he’s been burned, badly, in the past. Being single is sometimes lonely, but at least it’s safe. He doesn’t want to put a defenseless, unwitting human in harm’s way. His brain keeps supplying him with a list of perfectly rational reasons why he should leave their playful correspondence in the sandbox of cyberspace, but his heart furtively whispers what if.

8 & 9

There’s a live band at the bar, guitar player crooning a popular rock ballad while Derek nurses a beer for show. He checks his smartwatch for the seventh time in a span of three minutes and happens to catch the message notification as it pops up.

Do you know CPR? You better learn because ur taking my breath away

He spins around, searching for guys on their phones, frustrated to find almost every man in the bar staring at their screen. A baby-faced guy plops down on the open stool next to him as Derek’s eyes scan the crowd.

“Scott bet me I wouldn’t be able to start a conversation with the most beautiful person in the room.” Derek glances back, startled, to find a generous mouth smiling at him. “What should we do with his money?”

His first thought: HOT. His second thought: young. “Tell me you’re twenty-one,” Derek greets him. “Actually, please tell me you’re legal.”

Stiles dramatically crosses his heart, eyes wide. “I only look seventeen, I promise. It’s a blessing and a curse.” He holds out a sturdy but slender, long-fingered hand. “I’m Stiles. It’s nice to officially meet you.”

Derek takes his outstretched hand in a firm grip and swears he feels a zing when their skin makes contact. It’s official; he’s been single too long. “Derek. Let me buy you a drink, and you can tell me how you got my number in the first place.”

Stiles winks as Derek flags the bartender. “A gentleman never reveals his secrets.”

“Gentleman?” Derek, cold, fresh beer in hand, arches a brow. “Based on some of the texts I’ve received, I’m not sure gentleman is the correct term.”

Stiles clinks his drink against Derek’s. “Touché.” He eyes Derek over the lip of his brown bottle. “So, did you lace your pilsner with wolfsbane, or do you enjoy the taste?”

Derek, mid-sip, spits his beer onto the bartop. “What the hell?” he sputters, mopping at the mess with the world’s least absorbent cocktail napkin.

Stiles calmly takes a sip. “Come on, dude. My father’s the sheriff, and this town is literally a supernatural shit-show. If that wasn’t enough, my best friend is Scott McCall.”

“McCall?” Derek leans closer, soggy napkins forgotten, to whisper, “The True Alpha?” Derek’s met Scott at a few local pack gatherings.

“Yup,” Stiles replies. “He was bitten by a rogue werewolf when we were sixteen. So you could say I’ve been a little-” He makes exaggerated air quotes- “involved in the supernatural scene the past few years.”

Derek leans back, accessing Stiles in a new light: deceptively lean physique, handsome, impish face, the ability to make Derek laugh, and take him by surprise. The laundry list of reasons not to do this quickly goes up in smoke in the face of being able to show his true nature to a partner. Stiles smiles like he knows exactly what Derek is thinking.

“So, what do you say? Do I pass the test? Should we give going on an official first date a shot?”

“One condition,” Derek demands, holding up his index finger. “You’re not allowed to use a single pick up line all night.”

Stiles squawks, tossing long arms into the air. “You might as well ask me not to breathe! Or the Mets not to lose!”

“Chicken?” he asks, leaning into Stiles’ space. Derek quirks a brow and lifts his chin, eyes drawn like a magnet to Stiles’ tongue when it sneaks out to wet his lips.

“Hell no. Challenge accepted. Eight pm Saturday night.” An impish grin. “I’m gonna date you so hard, Hale.”

10

As far as (official) first dates go, it’s pretty damn amazing. The conversation flows as easily as the wine at dinner, and Stiles’ running jokes and commentary during the shitty movie doesn’t bother Derek at all. He’s thrilled to find their easy banter translates to real life, after weeks of electronic flirtation.

“Hey,” Derek whispers as they say good-night at Stiles’ apartment door. He wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist, pulling him close. He brushes a kiss, feather-light, across Stiles’ mouth and smirks. “Are you a magician? Because when I’m with you, everyone else disappears.”

Stiles leans back, arms still locked around Derek’s shoulders. “What the hell, man! You said no pick-up lines!”

Derek tuts. “I said you couldn’t use any. I never made the same promise.”

Stiles’ eyes narrow. “Serious question?”

“Shoot.”

“Will there be a second date?”

A second, a third, and more, if Derek has any say in the matter. “Absolutely.”

Stiles’ grin is slightly manic as he untangles slim fingers from Derek’s hair. “Well then, there’s probably something I should show you.” He holds up a hand in front of Derek’s face and snaps his fingers. A spark of light fizzles to life before his eyes, emanating from Stiles’ palm, and burning ozone singes the fine hairs inside his nose.

“Huh,” Derek replies, dumbly. “I did not see that coming.”

Stiles’ coy smile ignites something hot inside him. “I have some other party tricks I could show you if you want to come in?”

Derek leans forward again, chasing the bright glimmer of magic between them, the one that��s been there the whole time. “Oh, absolutely.”

——

For @evanesdust and based on THIS PROMPT by @faladrast

[precuredaily]

Precure Day 008

Episode: Futari wa Precure 08 - “Precure breaks up! Isn’t it too soon for that!?” Date watched: 17 April 2018 Original air date: 21 March 2004 Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/HHcaSfm

Man this episode hurts. A lot. And they know it hurts, they cut your heart open with a rusty knife, throw large chunks of salt in there, and stir it around with a broken screwdriver. As I said yesterday, this is the breakup episode. Nagisa and Honoka's differences come to center stage and they feel like they're irreconcilable.

Also, shipping fuel, if you’re into that. (I am)

What begins with Nagisa musing that she doesn't know much about Honoka and the two of them live in different worlds is escalated when Honoka, wanting to help Nagisa out, tries to get her to talk to Fujipi. Nagisa is taken aback by this and confused by her own emotions, so she runs off. The scene is framed with shadows, distance shots, and odd angles to hammer in the feeling of unease, and on an artistic level I love that. Honoka gives chase and says she just wanted to help Nagisa, to which Nagisa angrily responds that Honoka doesn't understand her feelings, shouldn't meddle in her affairs, thinks everything she does is right and the final nail in the coffin, that they're only Pretty Cure, they're not friends. Oof. This is punctuated with a passing train for dramatic effect.

That crashing sound you just heard was my heart breaking.

The next day at school everything is cast in shadow. Nagisa seems to regret what she said but Honoka took it all personally and is being very distant from her. Shiho and Rina pick up on Nagisa's dour mood and remind her that she can tell them anything and they'll take her side. Honoka confronts Nagisa after school and hands Mipple to her, saying Nagisa should find someone more compatible with whom she can be Precure, and runs off. Nagisa deals with this at home by writing in the magical notebook from episode 6. The next day, Nagisa tries to act like nothing happened and says hello to Honoka, rather awkwardly, several times, but Honoka barely acknowledges her and runs off each time, so Nagisa visits a shrine on her way home and wishes that the two of them can make up. She's attacked by Gekidrago, who has turned himself into a tree Zakenna, and Honoka, who happens to be passing by, comes to see what's going on when she hears Nagisa scream. The animation makes it a point to show both of their bags get emptied on the ground, to set up for a switcheroo later. The two bicker for a moment and transform, then keep bickering as they dodge Gekidrago. Honoka yells that it's important to talk about their feelings, while Nagisa retorts that only a stuck-up intellectual would do that and it's better to let it go. They both agree that they're too incompatible with each other, but it's clear that this fight is therapeutic for both of them. Gekidrago tries to get a word in edgewise and both of them snap at him (see above). They Marble Screw the hell out of him, begin to say thanks but remember that they're fighting, so they collect their things and walk off with only a terse goodbye. That night both of them receive some sage relationship advice from their maternal guardians, Honoka's grandma and Nagisa's mom. They then realize they've swapped notebooks accidentally, and they read each other's writings to better understand each other. They realize that deep down, they both really want to be friends. The next morning, Nagisa is sitting on a grassy embankment when Honoka walks up, nervously returns Nagisa's notebook, and Nagisa just looks up at her and smiles before grabbing her hand and telling her to hurry up to school. Notably, this is the first time they address each other by their given names, which is a sign of closeness in Japanese culture reserved for very close friends and family. And with a pan up to the sky, the episode ends.

All told, it's a dramatic episode about the importance of friendship and communication and making friends who are different from you. The setup was perfect. It capitalized on the previous episodes building their relationship and was the perfect obstacle for them to overcome to succeed as a duo and as the best friends they become. The tension built through the first half leading up to the big breakup is emphasized by the somber music, awkward angles, and the expressions of the characters. Even though I knew things would work out, watching the breakup was still hard, and seeing them struggle to get along afterwards was very poignant. Honoka just wanted to do Nagisa a favor, and Nagisa felt bad about how she reacted. The fight between themselves with Gekidrago in the background going "Hey uh I'm still here" was great, and the kind of venting they really needed. The only problem I have is that the resolution felt kind of rushed, neither of them said they were sorry, they just kind of had a mutual understanding that they'd read the other's writings and moved on. I would have liked a tiny bit more elaboration on this scene, but my girls are now closer friends than ever, ready to take on whatever the Dark Zone throws at them, and I'm here for that.

Honestly this is probably one of the best episodes in the show, and you could stretch it out into a fantastic movie plot. (Actually I think this is sort of the plot of both the first Max Heart movie and the Splash Star movie so maybe they did.) This right here, is why I like this show. The powerful messages about friendship visualized through two girls who are nothing alike becoming the closest friends is fantastic and I can't get enough of it.

Tomorrow, the school is haunted! till then! 

Side note, I grabbed this picture of Shiho because her face is glorious.

If you’re not aware, her seiyuu, Sendai Eri, later voiced Milk in the Yes 5 series, and this is exactly the kind of expression Milk would make.

[womenandfilm5]

I chose to watch “Eighth Grade” by Bo Burnham, and honestly, I found it to be incredibly heartbreaking. The overarching theme was navigating the awkwardness and challenges of adolescence, the prevalent desire to find a place to fit in. The themes of anxiety and depression are also explored, as the protagonist Kayla struggles with extreme social anxiety, and describes how she constantly feels, by saying “I feel like I always have that nervous feeling when you’re waiting in line for a roller coaster, but I always just have that nervous feeling, and I never have that good feeling after the ride, that relief”.  There is also a clear critique of the religious manner adolescents both regard and constantly use social media. Within this film there is also a clear disdain for the often ineffective method of sex education in schools, and the way that children often have to navigate these confusing arenas themselves, often because they feel pressured or coerced to do things they are not ready for.  . The film’s basic content was following the protagonist Kayla and her experiences in the last week of eighth grade, before she enters the high school. There is never any mention of other family members, besides her father, who appears to be attempting to raise her as a single father. He continues to try to bond with her, despite how she rebukes and shuts him out for so long, until towards the end of the movie. She is shown to have no friends, and struggles to take her own advice that she talks about in YouTube videos she makes. Kayla is often waxing about ways to gain confidence and improve your social life, but she genuinely struggles to follow her own words, and is unable to connect to people. She tries to fit in with a crowd of shallow, cruel girls, who treat her as less than a person, and the boy she is interested in does the same. He never shows an interest in her, until she starts to use sexualization as a currency, and mentions that she has nudes on her phone, to reel him in. After a trip to the high school for a class visit, she starts hanging out with a group of high schoolers, and attracts the attention of a pervy twelfth grader. He attempts to make Kayla take her shirt off after he isolates her from everyone else, and while she refuses and is able to leave the situation, she is clearly scared and confused.  . The film’s form is a narrative structure encompassing about a weeks span, and this story line following Kayla is split up with inserted clips from her YouTube channel. These inserted clips from her channels align so that the viewer is either seeing the contrast between what Kayla advises people to do versus what she actually does, or so that we see a contrast between a younger, more naive Kayla, and the current-day overwhelmed, more cynical Kayla. There was a very interesting use of aesthetics and visual style, in the way there was a lot of the story told through the palpable discomfort in body language and facial expressions of Kayla, and the way she interacts with her physical environment. There are a lot of closeup shots of her face, and the way she contorts her mouth and unconsciously expresses her emotions. Her eyes also express a lot of what she is feeling, and when she is nervous the camera will also zoom in on her hands fluttering nervously, or other such movements to demonstrate this effect. This method is particularly influential and makes the viewer really feel the energy exuded by the characters on the screen, and you feel immersed in the emotions that Kayla feels. The dialogue between the characters is often peppered with conversational pauses, such as “like”, and “um”. These words are not meant to demonstrate a lack of intelligence in the characters, particularly in the protagonist, but are used to verbalize the uncertainty with which Kayla navigates her social interactions, and is constantly in fear of saying the wrong thing. Multiple times throughout the film we see Kayla practice what she is going to say before calling someone, or speaking to them in person. This culminates such that it is clear how tentative Kayla is to assert her presence, and it really makes you want to fight for her. 

I chose to watch this film, because I love Bo Burnham as a comedian, and I have been listening to his music and Netflix comedy sketches for years, and I assumed that this film would be light-hearted as well. I was shocked by how heavy this film weighed on me, and how hard it hit me emotionally. One of my little sisters is currently in eighth grade, and she experiences extreme social anxiety, and it broke my heart a bit to really see this narrative through Kayla’s eyes, and then continuously relate it back to my sister’s experiences. I was shocked by the impacting nature of this film, and I learned that Bo Burnham suffers from crippling panic attacks, and chose to share his experiences through an eighth grader, because “anxiety makes me feel like a terrified thirteen-year old”. The film is thusly named, as it represents the anxiety and uncertainty of an eighth grader which Burnham experiences in his daily life. I found this to be profoundly self-aware, and a wonderful way to demonstrate such a powerful story of adolescent struggles and social  navigation. This film was also made only two years ago, and explores Millennials’ relationship with their generationally different parents, such as Kayla’s father, a member of Generation X. There are clear depictions of the toxic nature of social media in this film, and it is made clear the concerns that older generations have, to their children being so attached to their phones. This film really makes the socio-political climate it was filmed in known, and touches on prominent themes of the current time period, such as technological concerns of the era, and the way it allows young children access to things far before they are ready. 

A particularly poignant scene that really drew forth an emotional response in me was when Kayla approached Kennedy in school, after attending Kennedy’s party, where her mother forced her to invite Kayla. It took so much out of Kayla to even interact with the guests at the party, and for most of the time she was hiding in another room, while everyone else was gathered in the living room having fun. She rehearses what to say to Kennedy, and attempts to mirror both her language and image. We see Kayla wearing a Hollister shirt to try to blend into the “in-group”, she uses linguistic pauses to save herself time to think, such as “like”, and hunches over with her arms in front of her body, as a subconscious shield. Her body language is clearly very nervous, and the camera once again utilizes the technique of focusing in on her nervous, fluttering hands, arms protectively hiding her body, and her facial expressions of uncertainty. She is trying so hard in this scene, and is desperate to say, do, and be the version of herself that Kennedy will perceive as cool, but Kennedy only glances at her once or twice in this scene, implies disgust in her face and body language, and never once makes eye contact, or shows respect in her responses. Everything she responses is terse, and a one-word response, never anything to stimulate or keep the conversation going. This led me to draw connections to “Lemonade” by Beyonce, which is perhaps a strange comparison, but I kept thinking of the vast differences in confidence between Beyonce and Kayla. Beyonce is obviously a grown woman, but despite the adversity and discrimination she has undoubtedly faced in her life, almost all of the 13 chapters in her video display her oozing confidence. This is notable in the way she walks, makes eye contact, keeps her head high, shoulders back, hair kept in a manner that frames her face and doesn’t hide it, etc. She is a powerful, beautiful woman, who has come into her own, and she is aware of this fact. While this is obviously a drastically different situation, Kayla, an awkward, adolescent eighth grader demonstrates all of the exact opposite physical attributes as Beyonce does: she wears clothes to hide her body, tries to collapse into herself, and tries to never draw anyone’s attention to her. 

When watching this film, I began to ask myself questions that many parents are also having to face in this day and age. How can you simultaneously restrict your child from the negative consequences of the internet, while still allowing them freedom? The philosopher Locke believed the parenting approach to children seeking knowledge should always reflect pure honesty, and I feel this applies to the issue of technology. Banning a child from a website, restricting their access to the internet, or taking their phone has proved time and time again to be ineffective. For those with a goal, there will always be a way to access the internet, and no matter how scrupulous the parent, there will be a way to circumnavigate their restrictions. As a person who grew up with technology, but also witnessed a huge technological boom while in my teens, I believe our generation has a unique perspective, as we are immersed in this culture of social media, but perhaps somewhat more aware of it’s toxicity and it’s prevalence than the generations that have come after us. I feel that an open-door policy with a child is always best, and allowing them to come to you with any questions and not face consequences is key. Being honest about how social media can impact your self-esteem, how so much of the images on these sites are faked, how there are predators online, how inappropriate ads sometimes pop up, etc is the best way to inform a child. Is this a possible method with every generation that begins, especially as it can be challenging to keep up with all the new forms of social media? How can anyone be sure of what their child is doing on the internet, without invading their privacy? Should children be restricted of information until an appropriate age (within reason of course)? – HB

[kazjaurelia]

Joy Buzzer: Part Three

So, this took me a while to write(whoops), mostly because I was trying to figure out how to do a fight scene. I’m still trying to figure that kind of thing out, but hey, it’s my first time. So, sorry, it’s not the best. I tried. Enjoy, y’all. I might write a part 4. eventually.

Word count: 1520

Tags: Lance whump, Langst?, violence, Lance gets beat up, like bad, Keith cares.

Part 1 (x) Part 2 (x)

Lance runs as he watches as the cannon power up, the light pulsing a glowing pink. The energy expands and dashes forward, reminding Lance of a scene from an old movie about space he had watched with his family when he was younger. As the light grows and begins to cover Lance’s field of vision, the hairs on his arms prick up.

The world is spinning. It feels like an old ride from a carnival his family went to when he was younger. A ride that spun round and round, glueing him to the wall. Small pieces of detritus ram into his body as he’s tossed and thrown. Lance feels the wind blasting against his face as well as chunks of dirt before he crashes into what he thinks is one of the buildings on the perimeter of the square. The remains of the razed building seem to blow inwards with him and everything stills as it falls to the ground.

His body is throbbing stronger now. The waves of pain beginning in his chest and rolling outwards through his limbs. The cacophony of pain is felt through every individual injury, sharp as a whip. The ringing in his ears fades away to coughing and moaning through the wrecked square.

Static blares in his ear as Keith’s voice filters in right next to him. “Lance? Lance! I need you to answer me.” Oh, when did Keith get here? He’s pulling a beam off of Lance and tossing it to the side before rushing in to help.

He manages to roll over into his hands and knees, the pain peaking momentarily before dulling, slightly. Keith is right there, crouching down, waiting to help if needed. The tumble of rubble sounds out as the debris settles around him.

“I think I’m good.” Lance is almost shocked at how rough his voice sounds. It’s rough like he ate a cinder block. “Just a little banged up.” That is, if ‘just a little banged up’ was code for ‘my limbs feel kind of tingly, my head is spinning, and I feel like an elephant decided I was its chair’.

“Lance.” It’s said tersely, in a way of Keith warning Lance to stay down for now. But, he just simply ignores it.

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

Lance manages to brush off the rest of the rubble, with Keith’s help, to peer around the smoking remains of the Jiang square. It looks as if some of the officials were hit by pieces of flying debris, as they lay scattered around intemingled with the broken remnants of the buildings. Allura seems to have escaped the carnage. She supports one of the diplomats, the village chief, he thinks, as she struggles to get to her feet. Their eyes meet across the square as she walks towards them, seeming to ask the same question without the need for words. “Are you okay?”

“You’ve got more ships headed towards you.” Shiro calls over the coms. Great. “We’re on our way to help, but it’s going to be a few dobashes.”

“Then, we’ll just have knock ‘em out ourselves,” Lance quips. Shouldn’t be too hard. Right? All they had to do was keep the attention on them and protect Allura and the villagers. “How long until they get here?”

“Thirty ticks at most.”

Huffing out a breath of air, Lance stumbles to his feet. All the while, trying his best to avoid the looks he’s getting from Keith. They need to focus on the mission. He hands Allura the relic and sends her back to the other villagers to do the ceremony before turning to Keith, to silence his protests. “Keith, I’m fine. We need to focus on the mission and keep people safe. Let’s get back to our Lions and stop the next wave.”

They barely get their Lions up in the air by the time the first fighter can be seen. They fly out to meet the ship away from the village, to prevent any further damage. Lance and Keith set to work, taking down the ships speedily. Lance can feel the tingling getting worse. I guess being blown through a wall will have that effect. His mind is running on autopilot, with major support from Blue keeping him present enough to press a few buttons here and there, but it’s getting harder to concentrate. The waves of pain are back now, radiating from his chest to his finger tips and toes, up to his head. With every jolting blast near Blue, the pain spikes before returning to the level before.

Shiro, Hunk, and Pidge are here now. Lance only registers flashes of Green, Yellow, and Black across his vision, intermingled with blasts and explosions. Waves of concern are coming from Blue, as well as a calm feeling that brings a moment of clarity to Lance’s swirling head. A moment to see a stray plane headed back towards the village. A stray plane, almost like the one with the canon. No one else seems to have noticed it. Lance turns Blue towards the village, speeding after the lone fighter plane.

Lance shoots from the tail laser, pinpointing the plane, yet only chipping it. The plane spiral before crashing just short of the village. The pilot crawls out of the cockpit right as Lance gets there with Blue.

“Lance, where are you? We’re almost done with the fleet of fighters,” Hunk asks as Lance begins to exit Blue. He draws out his bayard as he nears the fallen pilot, aiming the barrel of the gun at him.

“I went after a ship that was headed towards the village. I’ve got it covered, you guys clean up.” He tries to hide the roughness and pain of his voice, and, when no one pushes to comment on it, assumes the attempt was at least partly successful.

As he nears, the grounded pilot is rising to his feet, wiping blood from a cut above his eye. It’s not even a tick before the fighter lets out a growl and lurches forward to tackle Lance. His bayard goes off, firing a shot into the sky before Lance’s body smacks into the ground, head first. A fist plows into Lance’s face.He can feel the bruise forming on his cheekbone. Lance raises the gun enough to smack it back into the head of the Galran, knocking him off of Lance and to the side. The Galran rams back into Lance, reaching for the bayard. He grabs a hold of the gun in an attempt to pull it from Lance’s grasp. He the fighter brings it back down, right into his left eye.  A hand flies up on instinct to cover the eye, allowing the Galran to tug the bayard out of his grasp. The fighter rises, keeping a foot on Lance’s chest to keep him down. Lance is staring down the barrel of the gun. Bringing a leg up, Lance wraps it up and around the pilot’s hips, pushing back. The effect is instantaneous as him and the gun fall backwards.  Effectively tossing his bayard far out of reach. Lance jumps forward, attempting to hold his foe down. Both roll on the ground, grappling to be on top. To be in control of the fight. But, they roll apart.

It’s only a moment before both fighters are back on their feet, jumping into fighting stances. His head is starting to throb. His limbs are tingling again. All he has to do, is take down this guy. Then, he can get in a healing pod. He knows that he’s tilting slightly. He knows that his opponent has probably also noticed it.

Taking advantage of Lance’s injured state, the Galran moves forward, bringing a leg up in a roundhouse kick. He doesn’t even feel the impact of the blow. He feels the hard dirt underneath his body.

The world is swirling around him as he looks at the sky. Sound fades in and out as his vision comes in and out of focus. He hears a grunt of pain above him, and a thud as a body hits the ground.

���Lance?” Is that Keith? “Shiro, Lance is down.”

A blurry form enters his vision, which he thinks is Keith, judging by the outline of the mullet. He looks worried. He arms around his back and under his legs, and then the ground is gone.

“Hang in, Lance. We’re going to get you to a pod.” The sky disappears and is replaced by a glowing red. What happened to the sky? Maybe it’s night time. Time to sleep. He’s so sleepy.

He opens his eyes. The world is shaking. Why is it shaking? “Lance, you need to stay awake. You did a good job, but we’re not done yet.” Keith sounds so serious and worried. That means he must be pouting. He can see it. The pouty eyes, downturned lips, and mullet to tie it together. The angsty combo. He doesn’t like that look on Keith.

“Hmm, w’did a g’d job,” he slurs. “W’r a good team.” He feels himself go limp as the darkness creeps in.

[davidcampiti]

A LIFE WITHOUT STAN LEE? -- Part Two

Ever wonder what it must have been like to BE Stan Lee over the past decade or two as the Marvel movies soared to prominence?

At 90 years old, he was still vibrant and funny and in good health, and he seemed to be having the time of his life just BEING Stan Lee. His final couple of years, with his wife Joan’s passing and so much behind-the-scenes wrangling to control his assets and access, were an embarrassment of greed from so many.

His detractors spoke of karma, of freelancers who worked with him and did not fare as well as he did as Marvel's editor-in-chief and icon/corporate spokesman, either in credit or financially. His biggest mistakes and, perhaps, regrets were there for the world to see.

And he had to sue Marvel for the $10 million in movie merchandise royalties he was contractually guaranteed. Wait, what?

Yup, even Smilin’ Stan had some bumpy rides.

Remember when I mentioned first meeting him in '78? Stan reviewed my friend Scott's artwork, dated and autographed the backs of his pages and paintings "to prove I saw these," and recommended that Scott submit his work to Marvel. Scott did so. Marvel's editor at the time rejected the submission outright with a terse note, "Stan has no power here."

That was a bit sobering. I stumbled over that sour sentiment a number of times across the decades.

Probably the oddest example? One day in the ‘90s, Stan Lee called me to say that Marvel asked him to write The Hulk vs. Superman cross-over one-shot, and he wanted to work on it with artist Mike Deodato, Jr. "Can Mike draw from a loose outline? You know how I like to work." I explained to him that the Brazil-based Deodato -- who was still learning English at the time -- didn't see himself as a writer and preferred to work from a page-by-page, panel by panel plot, if not a full script. "What if you and I talk out the idea, Stan?" I suggested. "I can then develop it into the full plot that Mike can work from, you review it, and he draws it from there?" "That'd be great, Dave! We've been talking about working together for awhile now. Let me give you the editor's name and number at Marvel. Tell him Mike's available to start, and we can get to work."

I called the editor and left a message. Then another. Nothing....although Stan and I had several quick conversations about it over the next few weeks. Finally, Stan called me again to ask if I've heard anything from the editor. "Nothing yet, Stan," I told him. "Fortunately, Mike Deodato has other work keeping him busy, but I don't want him to lose this opportunity." "O.K.," Stan replied. "Call them again today and let me know as soon as you hear anything."

Five more messages, an Email or two, and I forget how many days later, the editor finally called me back. "You must've misunderstood," the editor said, condescension in his voice. "Stan didn't mean to say he wanted Mike Deodato for The Hulk vs. Superman. He meant, in general, that he'd like to work with Deodato some day on something like that. You must've misunderstood." So I explained that I couldn't have misunderstood and, grabbing my notes, I began to quote Stan's exact words. The editor interrupted, "No, you must've misunderstood." And he hung up.

So I called Stan's office, and his assistant gave me Stan's cell number. Stan was in his car when I recounted that conversation with the editor. "What? I didn't 'misunderstand,'" said Stan, in a voice that went cold. "I'm going to Marvel in two days, and we are going to talk about a lot of things." He sounded sick of this. "Call me at Marvel's offices in the afternoon."

So I did. The gal who answered at Marvel told me, "Stan is still in his meeting. I can hear him yelling. I'll tell him you called like he asked." A few days later, Stan called me back, sorry that Deodato and I had been treated that way by Marvel. I sighed and said, "Well, I'm surprised and sorry they treated you that way, Stan." "Ahh, don't worry," he answered. "I'm fine." I later heard that this may have been the same visit to Marvel where Stan's contract got re-negotiated for a million bucks a year, an assistant and driver and he would only be responsible to Marvel for one day per week and could launch his own ventures. Soon he launched Stan Lee Media and, later, POW! Entertainment; Mike Deodato moved to DC and Dark Horse and Chaos! before spending the next decade back exclusively at Marvel, and The Hulk vs. Superman was eventually published with a very talented, very different creative team.

For Christmas that year, Mike Deodato created a drawing of The Hulk vs. Superman, and we gave the original art to Stan to commemorate the book that almost happened.

Stan has always put on a great face for the comics biz, endlessly energetic and upbeat about its potential. He's even been its apologist at times, such as when a comic book store owner, writing in CBG, demanded that Marvel apologize for destroying the direct sales market with its '90s era machinations and hurting his business -- and Stan called that store to apologize.

I remember walking down a Convention aisle at normal speed, and Stan and Max Anderson cut around me, one on each side, walking at twice my speed and out of sight before I knew it -- Stan being 88 at the time. I mentioned my surprised to Max the next day, and Max told me, "Stan saw me drinking a Red Bull, asked me what it was, and I told him it was to boost my energy. Stan said he ought to drink a few, and I said, 'NO! I drink these to keep up with you!'" We both chuckled over that.

So a few years later, I was certainly pleased to greet Stan at New York Comic Con so soon after his pacemaker was put in, walking and talking as fast as ever. It was amazing to see people crowding the aisles just to get a glimpse of him.

HIs life had certainly become meta, with a Fake Stan Lee on the payroll (I think) running around Conventions doing a riff on the '80s version of Stan. It certainly was fun for me to pose with the fake Stan Lee while holding a picture I'd just taken with the real Stan Lee.

Because of my decades of working with artists and teaching Creating Comics Seminars all over the world, Stan was happy that I accepted the assignment to write Stan Lee's How to Draw Comics based on those Seminars.

I wrote, assigned new art, and produced the entire 228-page book over a three-week span in the Philippines over Christmas. Stan reviewed the chapters, writing back comments like, "This is grrreeeeat!" and taking time at the end to send me a note about how well he thought it turned out.

He seemed quite pleased with what I did with it. And to his credit, even on a late-night talk show interview, he never claimed that he wrote it.

Tina Francisco, Katrina Mae Hao, and I came up with a whole pile of Stan caricatures for that book that didn't get used!  I hope to put them to good use someday.

Oddly, nobody told Stan how well the Stan Lee's How to Draw Comics book was selling.  He wrote me --

I had to admit nobody told me how it was selling, either.  (I later picked up copies of the book in Italian, so that was interesting!)

When Stan remembered that I was in the process of writing a How To Create Comics book under my own name, he wrote me a terse --

So I have his intro in my files.  I need to finish that book, and you know who I'll dedicate it.

Later on, I ghosted some introductions for Stan, on such books as JAPAN NEEDS HEROES.

I found it funny -- the editor of the JAPAN NEEDS HEROES book inserted two paragraphs of his own text into my introduction; not knowing someone else had penned them, Stan deleted those paragraphs entirely because they seemed unnecessary and simply didn't sound like him. Stan ended up changing just one word of mine, "harried" to "hassled," and the intro ran otherwise as I wrote it.  I later found that editor claiming, to anyone who would listen, that HE wrote that intro.

Just experiencing him BEING Stan Lee could be an inspiration, a learning experience.

Most telling might be a several years back when my sister-in-law's baby died in the hospital at only a month old, and Stan Lee was the FIRST person to contribute to a fund launched to help her with expenses. What’s more, he wrote her about how he and his wife had lost a child in childbirth, so they both understood her pain.

Or how about this one? It’s a Saturday in 2009 at Pittsburgh ComiCon, and something had gone wrong. Since we’d worked with Stan Lee on Who Wants To Be a Superhero? for his POW! Entertainment and we were about to start work on Stan Lee's How To Draw Comics, Stan suggested that I ask the Con to schedule us together for a few minutes, since he was booked wall-to-wall. The scheduled Friday night meet-up I’d arranged with the Con's owner for some reason didn’t happen. And by Saturday afternoon, it appeared as though Stan would finish his meet-and-greets upstairs in the Green Room, wrap his autograph session, and be whisked away two hours later for the airport without me saying so much as “Hello.”

Then: From our Glass House Graphics booth on the convention floor, my wife saw the Green Room door open at the top of the stairs, and she nudged me in its direction. “Go there!” she said. I did so, and she followed with our daughter Jasmine in tow and my photographer friend Paul Brittain right behind. Down came a couple of Security, then Stan, then the Con people. As Stan hit the bottom stairs, I stepped out, extending my hand. “Stan! David Campiti, Glass House Graphics!”

He looked up and, in true Stan Lee fashion, his face lit up while shaking my hand firmly. “Dave! Glad you made it! I was hoping to see you!”

The security guard stepped in to push me away. “Ya gotta go, keep moving.”

Throwing his arms wide, Stan said, “Wait — Dave’s a friend!” The guard glared at me, looked at Stan, back at me, then waved. “C’mon, then.”

Stan put his arm around my shoulder as we walked — briskly — toward his signing area in the next room. “Sorry it’s so crazy. How ya been?” he asked.

“We’re doing well. Glad you could spare me a moment, Stan,” I replied. “My artist Fabio Laguna and I did this up to give you, a nod to Disney buying Marvel.” The yellow package contained a 13” x 19” color print, a cartoon depicting Walt Disney wearing a Thor hat and costume and Stan Lee wearing a Mickey Mouse hat and costume, with a Disney logo emblazoned atop Marvel’s own logo. “This is CUTE!” he said. “Can I have this?”

“Of course!” I said. “There’s two of them. One signed by Fabio and me, and a smaller one unsigned. Hey, can we get a picture?”

“SURE!” Stan said. As we stopped in our tracks so Paul could take a shot, Stan turned to my wife. “Jinky! How ya doin'?” he asked, shaking her hand. Then he bent down to my daughter. “Jasmine! Nice to meet you. Are you four now?”

"Uh-huh. Are you Stan Lee?"

He beamed a high-wattage small at her, posed for the pic, then the guard pulled him away.

Carrying off the package, he said, “Thanks to much for this! Sorry we don’t have more time!” He waved, then he was off to sign for another line full of autograph seekers before racing to the airport.

Think about it: Despite a hectic schedule, Stan “The Man” Lee not only made me feel welcome, he had even recalled my wife’s name, my daughter’s name, and how old she was. (This from the guy people say has no memory!)

When I’m at a Con and flustered or crazy busy and someone wants to talk, this gave me something to aspire to. I'm much more concerned these days about giving each fan, each artist, his/her moment and my full attention.

Oh -- and that Walt Disney/Stan Lee piece we gave him that day?

Stan kept it displayed in his office.

So let me wrap this up by saying:  Everything in life builds on everything else. I ran into Al Williamson in a Boston bar back in 1982, struck up a conversation, and he suggested that I submit scripts to David Scroggy at Pacific Comics. That led to my first professional comics script sales.

When something as simple as a chance conversation in a bar with can affect one's life, you can only imagine how decades of Stan Lee affected my life without him ever knowing.

Without Stan Lee's "You're in the club" Mighty Marvel Manner version of Marvel Comics, I'd never have become such a comics fan. I never would have had the goal to work with him in comics and would likely have ended up a pharmacist like my Dad wanted.

I wouldn't have been inspired to read so much, get a communications degree in college, sell my first comics scripts, write for magazines and books, create multiple comics series, work in animation, become an editor and publisher, or become an international comics agent and meet thousands of wonderful creative people all over the world, many of who have become my friends.

That also means I wouldn't have gone to the Philippines to teach Creating Comics Seminars and wouldn't have met budding artist Meryl Calanog. So we never would've gotten married and had Jasmine.

Without the inspiration of Stan Lee, my life would be completely different and certainly not one filled with such joy.

Thank you, Stan Lee.

For everything.

-- David Campiti GLASS HOUSE GRAPHICS 12/28/18

[ecotone99]

He Won't Stop Banging [HR]

My night shift in the Emergency Room began just like every other night shift. The waiting room was filled with the typical “emergent” runny noses and sore throats interlaced with the occasional true emergency of a chest pain, sports injuries or a patient potentially having a stroke. It always amuses me how the patients that truly are having an emergency are always so pleasant and thankful, while those that abuse the system regularly can be some of the meanest, nastiest and ungrateful people on the planet As I was attending to a patient that came through the door clutching his chest, exhibiting all the classic symptoms of a heart attack, one of the obese frequent flyers grabbed my lab coat. Her filthy fat fingers tugged on my sleeve, almost spilling her 1 liter bottle of diet Coke as crumbs from her Popeye’s chicken fell from her disgusting mouth and down her purple sweatshirt. “Doctor, how much longer do I have to wait?” I replied impatiently, “Like I told you the last four times you were in here last week, I’m not a Doctor, I’m a Nurse, and if you have to ask how long you have to wait then you don’t need to be here. Now if you don’t mind, I am going to take care of this actual emergency.” I ushered the chest pain patient into the back, before the purple Tele-tubby drinking her diet Coke could respond. I got the gentleman settled into a gurney, got his shirt off and started working on an IV while the ER tech began placing the leads on his chest in order to obtain an EKG. Now you see, I work in a small rural ER. We have one doctor and one nurse per shift, about four ER technicians and two Emergency Medical Technicians. So you can probably imagine how quickly we can become busy and patients can get backed up. Especially when a true emergency comes through the door. As the doctor and I were attending to, and treating the gentleman with chest pain, we got a call from our regional call center to dispatch an ambulance for an attempted suicide. “Great! It’s going to be one of those nights” I thought to myself. As the EMTs where heading out the door and getting in the rig, the lead EMT called out to me. “Mike, I’ll call you on the radio as soon as we get on scene and let you know what we’ve got.” “Ok Tyler. Thanks.” I replied. We got “chest pain” dude stabilized and transferred over to the cardiac-cath lab. No sooner did we get that done when Tyler called in on the radio. “EMT-1 to ER, come in over.” “ER, send your traffic, over.” “Uh, ER…. we have a 23 year old male with a self inflicted gun shot wound to the head. No current signs of life, over.” “Roger that EMT-1. We’ll see you back in a few minutes then.” “Uh Mike,” Tyler said, “It ain’t that simple. “Whaddya mean?” I asked. “Well,” he began, “The Sheriff says that the ME is two counties to the north workin a case up there.” “Yeah, so what’s that have to do with us?” I asked. “Sheriff says that Doc J. has to pronounce the victim dead since the ME isn’t here.” “Well, I can’t let Doc leave.” I responded. “Yeah I know.” said Tyler, “That’s why we’re bringing the body back there.” “You’re What?” “Yep, we’re bringing him back.” Tyler stated, matter-of-factly. I paused for a few moments thinking about where we would put our new “Patient.” “Roger that. We’ll put him in the trauma bay.” and we ended the conversation. It was 10:30pm by the time Tyler and Scott got back with the body. Our trauma bay was only big enough for a single bed. We kept our adult and pediatric crash carts in there as well as our Pyxis medication station. I decided to close the bay doors to keep the looky-loos from getting too curious as Doc J. came into the room. “Put the five lead on him just so we can say for sure.” he said. I put the leads on the patient and turned the monitor on. The monitor showed no electrical activity, which was no surprise to anyone. “Okay,” Doc J. said, “let’s make time of death 2235.” “2235 it is.” I replied. “Okay Melissa, you can take the leads off now.” Melissa took the leads off and I pulled the sheet over the patient’s head. I then began the daunting task of getting a hold of the nursing supervisor so that she could call in the histology technician. Since our hospital was so small, our histo-tech also doubled as the morgue custodian. It took over an hour to get a hold of the tech, and she said that she was out of town, but could be there in an hour and a half. As the waiting room started to thin, I had to go into the trauma bay to pull meds from the Pyxis. In my line of work, I’ve been around many dead bodies but, the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. I tried to rationalize it as just being tired. I grabbed the meds, and left the room. About 15 minutes later, I had to get more medications. I was facing the Pyxis with my back towards the body. Again, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I could have sworn that I heard the sheet that covered the body rustle. I quickly turned around to look at the body. His right arm was hanging over the edge of the gurney. “Did we put both arms under the sheet or not?” I asked myself. I couldn’t remember. Either way, I was starting to get really creeped out. Every zombie movie that I had seen and every zombie book that I had ever read came flooding back into memory. I put his arm back on the gurney and under the sheet, and then I high-tailed it out of there. I was sitting at the nurses station about a half hour later when I realized that I forgot to do my pre-shift crash cart check-offs because of how busy we were. “Shit!” I mumbled under my breath. I really DID NOT want to go back in that room. I reluctantly got up, and headed in to do my checks. I was totally psyching myself out. As soon as I entered, I got that feeling again. The hair on my neck was standing straight up and so was the hair on my arms. “Knock it off” I told myself. I walked over to the crash cart and started performing my checks. I had my back to the body and I could have sworn that I heard that damn sheet rustle again. I quickly turned around, but everything was as I had previously left it. “See” I said out loud, “You’re just imagining things.” I turned back around to the crash cart and the door to the trauma bay flew open. I literally jumped and may or may not have let out a little squeal. Tyler walked in and said, “Hey boss, the histo-tech is almost here.” he said laughing. “Man, you should have seen your face. Quit being such a pussy.” “Fuck you!” I said to his back as he walked out laughing. I was almost done, and then I could get the hell out of this room. As I turned my attention back to the task at hand, I felt something brush against my butt and I jumped. I turned around thinking that I had probably just backed into the gurney. I felt all of the blood drain out of my face and was frozen with terror. I heard a low, almost inaudible moan coming from the body and the arm was out from under the sheet again. “Fuck this!” I said out loud as I bolted through the door. Tyler looked at me and started laughing again. “What’s the matter boss? You and the “patient” have a nice conversation?” “Something like that” I mumbled as I rapidly headed to the nurses station. “What?” Tyler asked chasing after me. “You’re freakin serious” he exclaimed. “It was nothing man” I replied, “Just my fucking imagination.” “Yo, you gotta tell me what happened man” Tyler said excitedly. “It was nothing” I shot back tersely. “Don’t you have vital signs to take?” I snapped at him. “What ever man. You’re losing it bro” he shot back as he turned to walk off. The histo-tech finally arrived around quarter after one in the morning. She walked into the trauma bay to survey the body. I purposefully stayed out. I didn’t want to go back in there if I didn’t have to. A couple of minutes later she came over to the nurses station and said, “I’m going to need help bringing him to the morgue. I can’t move him on the morgue gurney by myself. Also, can you come help me roll him? I have to get the body bag underneath him.” I sighed heavily and said “Sure. I’ll be right there.” I walked into the trauma bay and helped the tech put the body bag under the body. I stood on the side of the body and rolled the front side of it towards me. When I rolled him, blood oozed out from the exit wound on his head. “Take it easy pal.” It came from the body. I instinctively let go of the body and stepped back. The body rolled back towards the tech. “Hey, what the?” she exclaimed. “Did you hear that?” I asked incredulously. “Hear what?” she asked. “He told me to take it easy.” I explained. “Who” she asked. “Him” I pointed to the body. “Ha ha” she said, “Real funny.” “Jesus Christ. I must be losing my mind. Let’s just hurry this up and get it over with.” I said. We finished rolling the body and zipping up the body bag. As we were going out of the door heading towards the morgue, I grabbed a radio and shouted to the crew, “I’ll be right back. I’ve got the radio if you need me.” As we pushed the gurney down the hallway, I depressed the transmit button on the radio. “Radio Check.” nothing but static. “That’s unusual” I thought to myself. Our radios are digital so there’s never any static over the network. I shrugged it off, and kept going. As we got closer to the morgue, more and more static was emitting from the radio. I tried to call back to the ER, but there was no response. The tech unlocked and opened the door. “That’s weird” she said and stopped in her tracks. “What’s weird?” I asked. “Well, I purposefully left the lights on when I left because I knew that we were coming right back down. Now they’re off.” “Well,” I started, “They’re probably on motion sensor. If there’s no movement, they shut off to conserve energy like the rest of the hospital.” “No,” she replied, “We haven’t received those upgrades yet.” So, as much as I didn’t want to, I walked into the pitch black morgue, and turned the lights on. I walked into the other two rooms inside the morgue and turned those on too. “Nobody here.” I said. We wheeled the body in and the tech went over to the refrigeration unit and pulled out the morgue’s gurney. All of the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck were standing up again. I looked at the tech and said, “Ya know, I’ve been around a lot of death, being in Afghanistan and working in the ER, and it’s never truly bothered me. But…Something about tonight is really freaking me out.” “You’re probably just tired. You’ve been working a lot of nights lately.” “Yeah, maybe.” The radio squawked. I picked it up and pressed the transmit button. “ER, this is Mike, over.” No response other than static. Lots of static. In fact there was continuos static as if it were a “hot mic”. The tech and I looked at each other. I shrugged and said, “Let’s hurry this up.” We moved the body onto the morgue gurney and from the radio through the static I heard, “Not yet.” It came through as a whisper. “Did you hear that?” I almost screamed at the tech. All of the color draining out of her face and her shaking hands told me that she had. We both simultaneously went to the gurney, and hurriedly rolled it into the refer and slammed the door shut. We both just stared at each other breathing heavily for about thirty seconds. The whisper from the radio became louder and louder until it became a yell. “not yet.” “Not Yet.” “NOT YET!” and then the radio went silent. THUMP. We both jumped. The thump came from the refer. We were both paralyzed with fear. Then the unmistakeable sound of a zipper being zipped, or should I say unzipped came from the refer. Now I swear to you. I’ve been in several fire fights, and ambushes and I’ve NEVER been frozen in fear. But this, this was different. This was something I hadn’t been trained for or experienced before. BANG! The tech and I both jumped. The bang came from the INSIDE of the refer door. BANG! There it was again. It was strong this time. You could actually see the door move from the strike. The banging continued, rapidly, not stopping. The tech and I exchanged a quick glance and then we both hauled ass out of there. She went out first, and I followed, slamming the door shut. “Lock the fucking door” I shouted frantically. Her hands were shaking as she did. We both ran as fast as we could back to the ER. We went to the break room, both out breath. Tyler looked at us and chuckled. “Why you guys out of breath? Gettin freaky in the morgue?” He looked over at us trying to see if maybe he was right and we must have looked pretty bad because he got real serious, real fast. “Holy shit, are you guys ok?” he asked. “What happened?” The tech started to speak, but I cut her off. “Nothing” I said sternly. “We just kind of psyched each other out is all.” and I shot her a quick look as if to say, “Don’t say a fucking word.” She almost imperceptibly shook her head. I left the break room, went to the nurses station and called the nursing supervisor. When she answered, I said “Listen, I need you to get down here right away.” “What’s the matter?” she asked groggily, clearly annoyed. “Just get down here” I said, and hung up the phone. When she walked into the ER, she looked pissed. She came up to me and was about to read me the riot act and then stopped. She looked at me and said, “Are you ok? You look pale.” “No” I said, “That’s why I called you down here. I’m very sick and I have to leave.” “Well,” she began, “You can’t leave until I get someone in here to cover for you.” “Look,” I snapped at her, “I’m not asking for your fucking permission.” I grabbed my keys and headed for the parking lot. I must have been doing at least 80mph on the way home. I ran to my front door, put the key in the lock, opened and went through the door. I quickly slammed it shut and made sure that it was locked. I went upstairs, pulled out the 12 gauge and loaded it with slugs. I took it with me and went down into the kitchen, took out my bottle of Jack Daniels, and took a long pull from the bottle. It burned like hell, but soon after, my hands finally stopped shaking. I went back to the front door just to make sure that it was locked. I went back upstairs, and turned all of the lights and the TV on. I laid down on the bed with my shotgun across my chest, and then started laughing. Slowly at first, and then hysterically. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I said out loud. “You know you just imagined that shit.” I guess I dozed off because I woke up with my heart beating out of my chest. It was quiet. Almost too quiet. And then I heard it. BANG BANG BANG, coming from the front door. I’m scared shitless. I don’t know what to do. I’m too scared to move from my bed.

submitted by /u/NavyRN [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2WbC8OH

[eliteweddingcoordination]

Mr. Demille, I’m Ready for My Glenn Close-Up: ‘Sunset Boulevard’ Opens on Broadway

Glenn Close at the press event for Andrew Lloyd Weber’s adaptation of Sunset Boulevard. Bruce Glikas

“So they were turning, after all—those cameras. Life, which can be strangely merciful, had taken pity on Norma Desmond. The dream she had clung to so desperately had enfolded her.”

–The late Joe Gillis narrating Norma Desmond’s mad staircase descent at the end of  Billy Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard

Norma Desmond met the press the other day at her Palace (commonly known as The Palace at 47th and Seventh). Questions flying, cameras flashing—she loved it.

But then, what’s not to love? The cause for all this media commotion was her long-time-in-coming comeback—or rather, as she pointedly prefers, her “return—a return to the millions of people who’ve never forgiven me for deserting the screen.”

Actually, regardless of how offensive it may be to poor Norma’s super-sensitive sensibilities, comeback is the correct word—especially when referring to Glenn Close, the Tony-winning Desmond and, arguably, the greatest Desmond of all, who will commence a 16-week reprise of her 1994 triumph Feb. 9 in case you missed it.

Close’s objection is with the word “reprise,” and she speaks right up: “This time, my whole approach was that I didn’t want to go back to anything I did before. I came to it just thinking I’m not recreating. I’m exploring, starting from scratch. I’m 22 years older now. I’ve had 22 years more of craft and life. It’s bound to be a different take.

“Also, it’s a story that invites revisiting. It’s one of the greatest stories ever to come out of Hollywood—and certainly one of the greatest roles ever written for a woman, either on stage or in film. Playing this character takes everything. As cathartic as the story itself is—for any actor or actress in it, it’s also cathartic and, ultimately, very satisfying just to feel that all your creative muscles are being flexed while you do it.”

Close is 69 now and holding herself to seven performances a week. “We found out you can’t do eight performances a week of this role without getting sick. Anyone who has ever played this role will tell you it’s physically, and vocally, challenging.”

Those who saw her make her West End debut last spring as Norma at London’s English National Opera say that age makes La Desmond less monstrous and more vulnerable. “To the astonishment of us all, Glenn was even better than before,” declares Christopher Hampton, who co-wrote the show’s book and lyrics with Don Black. “She nailed it. I’ve seldom been in a theater where people got so excited.”

Michael Xavier, Siobhan Dillon and Fred Johanson, who co-starred with Close in that production, are making their Broadway debuts repeating their performances here.

Hampton was the first person to see a musical in Sunset Boulevard. When the English National Opera passed on it, he gave the idea to Andrew Lloyd Webber—mostly as a way of politely passing on doing the book for The Phantom of the Opera.

Last month Phantom started its 30th year at the Majestic as Broadway’s longest running show—so, when Sunset Boulevard opens tomorrow at the Palace, with Cats and School of Rock also in town, Lloyd Webber will be the second composer ever to have four shows running simultaneously on the Main Stem. The first was Richard Rodgers, who, in the summer of ’53, had four of his shows with Hammerstein going full blast on Broadway (South Pacific, The King and I, Me and Juliet and Oklahoma!).

The British composer is a bit embarrassed, and more than a little humbled, by that statistic. “I met Richard Rodgers very, very early on in my career,” he says. “To think that I got anywhere near what The Great Man did is really astonishing for me.”

Unlike Rodgers, who needed a show to focus on to access his melodic storehouse, Lloyd Webber claims he compulsively composes every day. “Melody is what I really believe in. Right now, I have in my drawer of melodies probably 20 that I’m really pleased with. It’s a hopeless waste and strain because I can’t find a subject I want to do as a show, which is dreadful for me, but I can’t help it. I just think in melodies.”

A 40-piece orchestra, uncommonly large for Broadway, should help to hold that melodic line. “This is really the esteemed English National Opera’s staged concert version of the show,” Lloyd Webber underlines. “Because of that, it’s very much more about the material than the actual performance, so, therefore, now it’s all about the music and the story—without the encumbrance of huge scenery.”

John Napier’s multi-ton, Tony-winning gilded staircase, which dominated Norma’s gothic-Victorian-baroque mansion in the original Sunset Boulevard, is a brain-burner for anyone who has seen it. It sometimes ascended so a party scene could be played on stage under it, and, during the shaky L.A. tryout, its revelers would break into collective cold sweats from the after-shocks that followed a big California quake.

“That went on for months,” Close recalls. “The suspended stage always moved a bit when the earth was still, but, after that, even little shakes got the adrenalin going.”

She may be glad to see that magnificent monstrosity go, but it has been replaced by many more stairs for her to scale. “It’s more abstract and more deconstructed than Napier’s gorgeous, hyper-realistic set,” points out the show’s director, Lonny Price.

Glenn Close and Andrew Lloyd Weber at a press event for his Broadway adaptation of Sunset Boulevard. Bruce Glikas

“The original set and production encouraged a kind of grandiosity and, I think Glenn would even say, a kind of grotesquerie. Now, it’s a middle-aged woman fighting for her life and her career. She’s eccentric, for sure, and she’s been hurt a lot, and she’s going to lose her mind, but she’s not there yet. We watch her incrementally lose it.”

Just prior to presenting his star to the press, Lloyd Webber gave Close’s arm an affectionate squeeze and whispered to her like an excited schoolboy, “We’re all here because of you.” Which was true, he admits, “What happened was that we had the opportunity to do it at the English National Opera, and they asked Glenn. She had never done it—or anything on stage—in London, so I think she was keen to do it.”

It may be remembered that Lloyd Webber hired his stateside Evita, Patti LuPone, to world-premiere Norma in London, with the promise of her repeating the role on Broadway, but, when he saw Close do Norma at the American premiere in Los Angeles, he decided to give her the Broadway shot instead, resulting in an extremely acrimonious lawsuit that wound up paying for LuPone’s swimming pool. In this year’s Tony race, LuPone has the edge (via her Helena Rubinstein in War Paint) over Close, who, for all her from-the-ground-up work on Norma, isn’t eligible for seconds.

“Glenn,” Lloyd Webber still insists, “is the best Norma Desmond that I’ve ever seen.”

“Glenn,” Lloyd Webber still insists, “is the best Norma Desmond that I’ve ever seen.” That may or may not include the original madwoman of Sunset Boulevard—Gloria Swanson in Billy Wilder’s 1950 film classic. A haughty beauty from Keystone Kops days, Swanson was not known to be much of an actress before—or after—Sunset Boulevard, but for this one film Wilder manipulated from her a great performance of a silent screen star whose career crashed and burned with the coming of sound.

It’s now hard to believe, but she was not the first, second or third choice for the role. Wilder’s first choice, Mae West, was insulted by the offer. His second—Pola Negri, a Polish actress who didn’t survive sound—still had an accent that would mangle Wilder witticisms. He even went to Pickfair to pitch the picture in person to No. 3, Mary Pickford, who reacted in such horror at the story he was telling he stopped. Greta Garbo and Norma Shearer were asked but wouldn’t budge out of retirement.

Swanson was the suggestion of George Cukor, who, ironically, would direct the one performance that would take the Academy Award away from not only Swanson’s Norma Desmond but also Bette Davis’ Margo Channing: Judy Holliday’s Billie Dawn.

A major plus about the Swanson casting was that she’d worked with director Erich von Stroheim, whom Wilder hired to play Norma’s first husband and lasting butler, Max von Mayerling. The film they did together for producer Joseph Kennedy, Queen Kelly, was never finished, but a clip of it flickers by in Norma’s home screening room.

The role of Joe Gillis, who draws very dubious double duty as Norma’s screenwriter and lover, also went through casting loop-de-loops. Montgomery Clift bolted two weeks before shooting was to begin because he thought the older woman-younger man relationship reflected on his real-life one with Libby Holman; Fred MacMurray disliked the gigolo aspects of the role; Marlon Brando was considered too much of an unknown to take a chance; MGM refused to loan out Gene Kelly, so Wilder had to settle for a Paramount contract player, William Holden, who came through big time.

Wilder and his longtime writing partner, Charles Brackett, almost came to blows over a montage showing what Norma goes through to look young for the cameras. They never made another movie together. It was their 13th collaboration, and it won them—and someone named D. M. Marshman Jr.—a Best Original Screenplay Oscar. Marshman was a poker crony of Wilder’s whose chief contribution was dreaming up the two-decade age gap between Norma and Joe and turning him into “a kept man.”

Fearing a negative reaction to the movie’s damning depiction of the film industry, the script was kept top secret and titled A Can of Beans while in production. That fear turned out to be real: At the movie’s splashy Hollywood premiere, a livid Louis B. Mayer caught up with Wilder and accused him of biting the hand that fed him.

Wilder, never one to be at a loss for a witty retort, shot back a terse “Fuck you!”

Source

http://observer.com/2017/02/glenn-close-sunset-boulevard-broadway-andrew-lloyd-weber-interview/